Page 55 of Forged in Fire
“I’m sorry,” I say simply.
“Shit happens.” She shrugs. “But we had each other, and that helped.” Her voice drops. “But now that the Syndicate has him, I’m not sure what he’s become.”
The pain in her words is raw, immediate. I once knew that kind of loss—the hollow ache of someone important being ripped away. But it’s been so long since I felt it for a person. Now, there’s only the illusion of purpose that’s sustained me for so long.
“You love him.” Not a question.
“More than my own life.” The words come out fierce, absolute. “I’d do anything to save him. Face the Guild, the Syndicate, the entire supernatural world if necessary.”
“Even if it’s certain death?”
Fire flashes in her eyes. “He’s my twin.”
Like that explains everything. Maybe it does. I’ve never had that—unconditional love that transcends logic or self-preservation. The Guild taught me to value mission success above personal cost, but this… this is different. Bigger.
“What about you? Do you have family? Parents?”
I shrug. “Stopped hearing from them years ago.” I know there would once have been pain in that statement, but it’s gone now. Dulled by time and distance. “After the Guild took me, we lost contact.”
Her brows pull together. “Why did they let you go? What parent would want that kind of life for their child?”
I shrug again. “The Guild pays handsomely for a child with skills. Guess they needed the money more than they needed me.”
She puts her cup down so hard it clatters. “They sold you?”
“I like to think of it more as an apprenticeship.”
“They took money for their own boy.” She’s shaking her head. “That’s fucked up in so many ways.”
“It’s done,” I say. “No sense getting worked up about it now.”
She takes in a deep breath as if considering this. “You’re so… pragmatic.”
“Is that a problem?” I drink my coffee.
“No.” She’s frowning. I’m not really sure what she needs to hear from me, so I say nothing.
Our food arrives, breaking the tension. Iris digs into her eggs while I discover thatpapana?itaste better than anything I’ve eaten in years. Not the food’s fault that I usually can’t taste much—my stomach’s too knotted with mission stress to process anything.
Today, everything tastes like… possibility.
“You think these people you know can actually help?” I ask as we finish our meal.
“I have to believe they can.” She sets down her fork, meeting my eyes as she pushes her empty plate away. “Because the alternative is giving up, and I won’t do that.”
“Tell me about them.”
She glances around the café, noting the other patrons, the way sound carries in the small space. Smart woman.
“Not here,” she says quietly.
I nod, signaling for the check. The waitress brings it over, and I drop enough lei on the table to cover the meal and a generous tip. Old assassin trick: never leave a trail of bad impressions.
Outside, Râ?nov’s morning energy wraps around us. The old district bustles with tourists and locals. Perfect cover for two people who need to blend in. I position myself slightly behind Iris’s left shoulder as we walk. Close enough to move if someone threatens her, far enough to give us both room to fight if necessary.
The cobblestones are uneven beneath our feet, worn smooth by centuries of use. Ancient buildings tower around us, their facades bright against the morning sky. Iris moves with casualease, her body unconsciously swaying with a rhythm that makes my mouth go dry.
God, she’s got a great ass.
