Page 41 of Forged in Fire

“Take flight and they’ll drop you. Those rounds will pierce armor.”

“Shit. No dragon.” The scales fade slowly. She’s figuring out what we’re facing.

We move through the forest in relative silence. Her footfalls are surprisingly quiet on the frozen ground. I can feel her tension, the contained rage simmering beneath her controlled exterior. She studies landmarks every few steps, memorizing terrain.

Planning escape routes.

She tugs against my grip periodically. Testing the chain length. She’s definitely planning to run.

The realization should irritate me. Instead, I find myself respecting the practical thinking. She doesn’t trust me.

She shouldn’t.

One mile out, we pause to listen.

She uses the break to create distance between us. Two feet. Minimal, but the intention is clear. Her eyes scan the forest, assessing potential escape routes.

The loss of contact leaves my fingers cold. Empty. I curl them into fists to suppress the urge to reach out to her.

What the fuck is wrong with you, man?

Shouts echo through the trees. Military commands barked out. They’ve found the tunnel.

I check my equipment. Four magazines for the rifle. Two for the Sig. Blade. Limited supplies. Enough for maybe twelve hours if we’re careful.

If we’re lucky.

“They’ll track us,” she says. No hysteria. No demands for information.

“Yes.”

She processes this, studies the terrain.

“So what’s the plan?”

The real question: am I still her captor, or have I become a temporary ally?

It’s a good question. One I can’t answer. I’ve severed my ties with the Guild. Chosen her survival over a lifetime of loyalty. She doesn’t know this. Has no reason to trust it.

“We run. We survive. We assess our options if we make it out.”

Distant gunfire punctuates the night. They’re still clearing the cabin, buying us precious minutes.

She looks at me, and something shifts in those astonishing eyes. Not trust, exactly. Acknowledgment. The kind of calculation that says she’ll cooperate as long as it serves her survival.

The moment those odds change, she’ll bolt.

“Lead the way.” Her voice remains level, but she falls into position behind me instead of beside me. Maintaining distance. Maintaining options.

We disappear into the darkness. Behind us, the cabin burns. Ahead lies nothing but mountain wilderness and the uncertain promise of dawn.

Her scent follows me through the trees—something wild and clean that cuts through the pine sap and cordite smoke. It shouldn’t matter. Shouldn’t distract me from keeping us alive.

It does anyway.

I’ve made my choice.

Now we manage the consequences. Including the growing certainty that she’ll vanish the moment she knows she can survive without me.