Page 68 of Forged in Fire
Instead, I focus on making every shot count. On selling my life as expensively as possible. On buying Iris enough time and distance to escape.
Guild operatives are good, but they’re not expecting someone willing to trade life for time. Their cautious advance falters as I press forward instead of retreating.
I put two rounds into the chest of an operative who gets careless about cover. I watch him drop. Others adjust, become more careful. Careful takes time they don’t have.
The chopper is almost out of effective range. Small arms fire becomes increasingly ineffective with altitude and distance. A few more seconds and Iris will be safe.
Something impacts my left leg. Spins me sideways. Pain flares white-hot through my thigh as a slug tears through the meat of it, but luckily, the bone holds.
Still mobile. Still dangerous.
I come up firing, lay down suppression as I move to new cover. Operatives are forced to keep their heads down, disrupting their advance. Buying precious seconds.
A voice echoes across the ruins, electronically amplified: “Riven Barlowe! Stand down and surrender. You’re surrounded and outgunned.”
Professional courtesy. They know who I am. What I’m capable of. Offering terms while they still can.
I respond with a double-tap at the voice’s source. The amplifier cuts off mid-word.
More muzzle flashes. More bullets seeking flesh. My left leg is starting to go numb, blood soaking through torn fabric. The shoulder wound burns. But I’m still moving. Still fighting. Still buying time.
The helicopter is a distant speck now, rotors barely audible over the gunfire. She’s safe. Elena will get Iris to Viktor. To Aurora Collective resources. From there, maybe she can find her brother. Maybe she can build the life she deserves.
Maybe she’ll forgive me for making this choice without asking.
An operative breaks cover, trying to flank me. I put him down with three quick rounds, but the movement exposes me to crossfire. Bullets whine past my head, force me back behind my rapidly disintegrating cover.
They’re closing in.
I check my ammo. One magazine left, plus a chambered round. Not enough to fight my way out. Enough to make them remember this morning.
Dragon fire builds in my chest again—hotter now, desperate. I let it flow into my remaining rounds, turning each bullet into something that burns as well as kills.
Through a gap in the stone, I catch a glimpse of movement. Black military gear. Assault rifle. Precision equipment.
I wait until he commits to his approach, then put two superheated rounds in his chest. He drops hard, weapon clattering across ancient stone.
But there are more. Always more.
The helicopter is gone now. Disappeared into the morning haze.
Mission accomplished.
Iris is safe, whether she wanted to be or not.
A strange peace settles over me as I reload for the last time. All this time, I’ve avoided questioning anything—purpose, methods, lives taken in service to causes I no longer believe in. Wondering if there was something better than the shadows I’ve called home.
Now I know.
Sometimes the best thing a monster can do is choose his last stand carefully.
And as I rise and walk toward the voice telling me to surrender, one thing is clear in my mind:
She’s worth it.
Chapter 20
Iris
