Page 74 of Forged in Fire
The mathematics of mercy. Guild terminology for choosing the least painful way to kill someone. Making murder sound like compassion.
“Quick blade between the ribs,” she continues, voice taking on an almost hypnotic quality. “Instant death. No fear, no prolonged suffering. The kindest gift you could give someone you claim to care about.”
Claim to care about. Like my feelings for Iris are pretense rather than the most real thing I’ve experienced in my entire life.
“Alternatively,” Veyra says, stepping back to give me space to consider, “Kozlov’s methods involve keeping subjects conscious throughout the process. He finds that genuine fear enhances the interrogation experience.”
The casual evil of it—using my feelings for Iris to make me complicit in her murder—makes bile rise in my throat. This is Guild psychology at its finest. Take the operative’s emotions and weaponize them.
Make him grateful for the opportunity to kill someone he cares about.
“How long do I have to decide?” I say, hating myself for asking.
“One hour.” Veyra checks her watch. “Enough time to consider your options and reach the correct decision.”
Correct decision. Like there’s any choice that doesn’t end with Iris dead.
“The mission kit will remain here.” She points to the table. “When you’re ready, you’ll be free to go.”
She moves toward the door, then pauses. “Oh, and Riven? In case you’re considering some form of heroic sacrifice—” Her smile turns arctic. “Just remember that refusing the mission won’t save her. It will simply ensure she dies badly instead of well.”
The door closes behind her, leaving me alone with the echoes of her words and the tools of my trade.
One hour to decide whether to murder Iris or condemn her to worse.
The Guild’s definition of mercy.
I test the restraints experimentally, feeling for weakness in the construction. The wards hum stronger, pushing back against my fire.
There’s no way to escape, and even if I did, I’d be dead before I reached the hallway.
I have to think.
And I have one hour.
Sixty minutes to find a third option in a situation designed to offer only two.
Sixty minutes to save Iris without becoming her executioner.
The “mathematics of mercy” can’t be my only option.
They fucking can’t.
Chapter 22
Iris
I wake up in darkness, heart still racing from dreams I can’t quite remember. The room at Aurora Collective headquarters feels too quiet, too empty, like the silence itself is pressing against my chest.
Twenty-four hours.
It’s been twenty-four hours since the monastery. Since I watched him put his life on the line for me yet again. And this time, I’m certain he didn’t make it out. The gunfire, the overwhelming odds.
There’s no way he made it out.
The day blurs together in fragments. Viktor’s cryptic explanations about shadow magic. Elena’s careful words about “realistic expectations” and “acceptable losses.” The endless arguments about rescue operations and resource allocation while my world cracked apart piece by piece.
He’s gone.
