Page 73 of Forged in Fire
The casual dismissal of everything between Iris and me as mere physical attraction makes my jaw clench. But arguing would only confirm Veyra’s assessment.
“What do you want?” I ask instead.
“Your loyalty,” she says, surprising me.
“I think we’re beyond that, don’t you?”
“Not if you redeem yourself. Choose another path.” She tilts her head.
“And what would that be?”
“Completion.” She moves to a small table I hadn’t noticed before, lifting a cloth to reveal the tools underneath. Not torture implements—those have already done their work. My torn skin is proof of that.
These are different.
Professional-grade ceramic knife. Untraceable ammunition for my preferred sidearm. Field medical kit for post-mission cleanup.
Mission gear.
“The original contract remains active,” Veyra explains, running one finger along the knife’s edge. “Kieran Asguard requires elimination. But given recent complications, we’re expanding the parameters.”
I go so still that I’m sure even my blood has stopped pumping. “To include?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
“His sister.” She says it like she’s discussing the weather. “Miss Asguard’s involvement has classified her as a security risk requiring immediate termination.”
I narrow my eyes on her. Not just Kieran on that contract—Iris, too. Both of them now marked for death because I couldn’t pull a trigger when it mattered.
“The contracts are separate,” I lie, desperately searching for angles. “Different payment structures—”
“The contracts are whatever we say they are.” Veyra’s voice carries absolute authority. “And right now, they specify dual elimination. Kieran and Iris Asguard. Clean kills. Professional execution.”
She picks up the ceramic knife, testing its balance. “The question is whether you complete the mission, or we send someone else.”
The threat hangs in the air… unmistakable. Someone else. Someone without my restraint, my precision, my—
My feelings for the targets.
“Who?” I ask, though I already have my suspicions.
“Kozlov volunteered.” Veyra’s smile turns ugly. “Enthusiastically.”
Kozlov. Guild enforcer with a reputation for creative interrogation and slow kills. The kind of operative who views torture as artistic expression. If he gets the contract…
“Kozlov doesn’t do clean work,” I say.
“No, he doesn’t.” Veyra sets the knife down carefully. “He finds that prolonged interrogation often yields valuable intelligence before elimination. Days, sometimes weeks of careful questioning.”
The image forms—Iris strapped to a table like the one behind Veyra, Kozlov working through his techniques while she screams. My dragon fire surges in response, scales trying to break through skin.
“Of course,” Veyra continues, watching my reaction carefully, “if you were to complete the original mission parameters, we could ensure swift, professional termination. Minimal suffering. The mercy that comes with competent execution.”
There it is. The psychological hook, wrapped in false compassion. Accept the mission and become Iris’s executioner, or refuse and condemn her to something infinitely worse.
“She cares about you,” Veyra observes, voice soft with false empathy. “We’ve seen the surveillance footage. The way she looks at you. Trusts you.” The words turn cruel. “Imagine her confusion when Kozlov introduces himself as your replacement. How betrayed she’ll feel learning you chose to let her suffer rather than grant her a clean death.”
My restraints creak as my body tries to lunge forward. Everything in me screams to tear her throat out, to burn this place down around us, to do anything except listen to this bullshit.
“You’re a professional, Riven.” Veyra moves closer. “Your career has been extensive. You understand the mathematics of mercy.”
