Page 36 of Forged in Fire
“Your brother betrayed you,” he says with devastating simplicity. “Perhaps you should be asking different questions.”
Heat floods my face—anger and something else I don’t want to acknowledge. “You don’t know anything about us.”
“I know what I saw.” His voice remains maddeningly calm. “I know you walked into that situation trusting him completely. And I know if I hadn’t been there, you’d be dead.”
The enormity of that statement settles over me like a shroud. Part of me wants to deny it, to insist that Kieran would never hurt me. But the evidence won’t be ignored.
A phone rings somewhere in the cabin, electronic and insistent. His expression shifts, becomes even more guarded.
“Don’t move,” he says, like I have any choice in the matter.
He disappears into another room, but dragon hearing is excellent, and these mountain walls carry sound. His voice, low and professional, drifts back to me.
“Barlowe… situation contained… tactical complications…”
I use the opportunity to test my restraints more aggressively. My shadows pour toward the locks, seeking any weakness in the dragon-forged metal. The wards push back immediately—like trying to force opposing magnets together—but I keep trying.
If I can manipulate my shadows into the locking mechanism, maybe I can work the tumblers. The metal is warm against my skin, humming with power, but there has to be a way—
“No.” His voice carries from the other room, tone shifting to something sharper. “That wasn’t the arrangement.”
I stop breathing, straining to hear more.
“I understand she’s a security risk…”
She.He’s talking about me.
My shadows writhe against the restraints with new urgency, testing every angle, every possible weakness. The wards burn against my power, but I push harder, desperation overriding caution.
“A permanent solution isn’t necessary if we—” His voice cuts off. Then, flat and cold: “I see. Understood.”
The silence that follows feels ominous. Final.
When he returns, his expression is carved from granite. Whatever conversation he just had sealed something—my fate, most likely.
“Bad news?” I ask, proud of how steady my voice sounds despite the terror climbing my throat.
“Depends on your perspective.”
“From my perspective, I’d say most news qualifies as bad right now.” I shift position, testing the restraints again. “Who was that?”
“My handler.”
At least he’s being honest. “And let me guess—they’re not happy about the mission failure.”
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “Among other things.”
“Other things like me.”
He doesn’t deny it.
“So what now?” I force the question past the fear threatening to steal my breath. “You got orders to eliminate the complication?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. Just stares at me with those strange eyes, and I realize I’m looking at a man being torn apart by conflicting loyalties.
“They expect compliance,” he says finally.
“But you’re not complying.” It’s not a question. Something in his posture, in the way he’s avoiding direct answers, tells me he’s fighting this.
