Page 33 of Forged in Fire
“Civilian identity?”
“Iris. No surname confirmed yet.” Though I have my suspicions. I don’t share them.
“Hold.”
The line goes quiet except for electronic hiss. I stare at the woman—at Iris—and try to figure out how I’m going to explain this. How I’m going to justify throwing away everything I’ve built for someone I just met.
Someone whose shadows wrapped around me like they belonged there.
“Barlowe.” Veyra’s back. Voice different. Sharper. Colder. “Your civilian is Iris Asguard. Target’s twin sister.”
Fuck.
A twin… just as I’d feared. Not merely related—connected by blood and bone and shared genetics. Connected by the kind of bond that makes people do stupid things. Dangerous things.
Things like walking into ambushes to save each other.
No wonder she put herself in the path of a bullet for him. No wonder she wouldn’t give up on him, even though it was clear he had no such qualms about her.
“That confirms my assessment,” I say, my voice curt.
“It creates massive complications, is what it does,” Veyra corrects. “The target escaped because of family interference. The client will be extremely displeased.”
Displeased. Guild euphemism for bullets and consequences. For retirement that comes with a pine box and a shallow grave.
“The sister was a witness to the operation. She’s seen your face, knows your methods. She represents an unacceptable security risk.”
I feel myself go cold. “Orders?”
“Fix the problem, Barlowe. All of it. Sister first—she’s the immediate threat. Then complete the original contract.” The connection quality shifts. More distant. “Your standing with the Guild depends on completing the resolution.”
My standing. Not reputation. Not next contract. Standing. Which means fuck this up and face permanent retirement.
The kind that comes with a bullet.
“Timeline?”
“Immediate. Every hour she’s alive increases exposure risk.” Electronic distortion creeps into the signal. “This conversation never happened. You’re dark until completion. I’ll be in touch.”
The line dies. Static fills the silence before the phone shuts down completely, severing all electronic connection to the Guild. Standard protocol for operations requiring plausible deniability.
I’m alone with impossible orders and a woman who shouldn’t be here.
Fix the problem.
The words echo in the empty cabin like a death sentence. Not hers—mine. Because there’s no universe where I can follow that order. Not after what I felt when her shadows touched me. Not after something in my chest caught fire and wouldn’t let me walk away.
Not after my dragon fire recognized hers.
I look at Iris again. Unconscious. Helpless. Beautiful in the dim cabin light, hair spilling across dark fabric like blood on stone.
Veyra wants me to eliminate her. The Guild expects it. The client demands it.
And I can’t.
Won’t.
The realization hits me hard, almost doubling me over with its implications. If I don’t do this, I’ve just signed my own death warrant. Thrown away decades of careful reputation building. Burned every bridge I have with the only organization that’s ever given my life meaning.
