Page 72 of Forged in Fire
But alive. Which means they want something.
Footsteps echo in the hallway beyond the door. Measured pace. Confident. Two people—one light, one heavy. The heavier steps fall back as the door hisses open.
Veyra enters alone.
She looks exactly like she always does—tall, elegant, silver hair pulled back in that signature knot. Life in the Guild has left its mark in the precise way she moves, the calculated assessment in her pale eyes.
I’ve worked with her long enough to know her reputation. Clean eliminations. Zero tolerance for mission failure. The kind of handler who views operatives as tools to be used and discarded when they break.
“Riven.” She stops three feet away—close enough to project authority, distant enough to avoid retaliation if I somehow break free. Professional spacing. “You look terrible.”
“Feeling fantastic.” The words scrape my throat raw. “Guild hospitality never disappoints.”
Her smile carries no warmth. “Always did have a mouth on you. Most operatives learn to curb that particular tendency after their first conditioning session.”
“Most operatives don’t have my charming personality.”
“Indeed.” She circles my position slowly, heels sharp against concrete. “Shall we discuss your recent career decisions?”
“Which ones? I’ve made so many questionable choices lately.”
She stops directly in front of me, eyes tracking the damage and probably approving. “The Kieran Asguard contract,” she says. “Signed three weeks ago. Payment transferred. Mission parameters clearly defined.” Her voice drops, taking on the tone she probably uses to explain basic concepts to new recruits. “Kill the target. Confirm the elimination. Return for debrief.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“Yet here we are.” She spreads her hands in mock confusion. “Target alive. Operative compromised. Mission status: catastrophic failure.”
The words hit the way they’re intended. Mission failure isn’t just professional embarrassment—it’s identity destruction. Everything I was trained to be, everything I believed about myself, reduced to two words.
Catastrophic failure.
“The contract specified elimination parameters,” I say, falling back on technical language. “Circumstances required adjustment.”
“Circumstances.” Veyra’s lip curls. “You mean the sister.”
My pulse spikes despite my efforts to stay calm. Admitting connection to Iris would give the Guild another weapon against me. But lying to Veyra’s face seems equally dangerous.
“The mission environment proved more complex than anticipated,” I say carefully.
“Complex.” She moves closer, studying my battered face. “That’s an interesting word for emotional compromise.”
“I wasn’t compromised.”
“No?” She pulls out a tablet, fingers tracing across the surface. “Would you like to review the surveillance footage? Themonastery. The cabin. That charming little cafe in Râ?nov where you bought her breakfast?”
Heat builds under my skin—dragon fire responding to fury I can’t quite suppress. She knows about Râ?nov. About everything.
“Professional interest,” I lie.
“Of course it was.” Her smile turns sharp. “Decades of exemplary service, Riven. Zero mission failures. Perfect completion rate. And then you meet Iris Asguard and suddenly develop a conscience?”
The way she says Iris’s name makes violence coil in my chest. Like she’s discussing a problem requiring elimination.
Which, I realize with cold clarity, she is.
“Had to happen sometime,” I mutter.
Veyra heaves a heavy sigh. “So much potential,” she says, looking me over. “All wasted on feminine eyes and a pretty smile.”
