Page 64 of Forged in Fire

She nods. Her fingers twist in her lap, reminding me that there’s a lot that’s been left unsaid. Like, what the fuck happened last night?

Don’t think about it.

Shoving away thoughts of her sweet curves beneath my palms, I open the door and get out of the car, Iris doing the same.

We move through the ruins, and I take in sight lines automatically. Worn stones under our feet. Moss creeping up walls. Water dripping somewhere distant. It would be picturesque if I weren’t waiting for a sniper round at any moment.

A woman waits by the helicopter. Dark hair pulled back out of her face. Cargo pants, vest, sensible boots, sidearm visible. Tall and athletic with pale gray eyes. Elena, I’m guessing.

When she spots us, relief floods her face.

“Iris.” Elena crosses the distance fast, pulls Iris into a fierce embrace. “My God, when I heard what happened—”

“I’m fine,” Iris says, voice thick. “Elena, I’m fine.”

A second figure emerges from behind the helicopter. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Moves efficiently. Luke Kenan—I recognize him from Craven intel files. Craven clan elder. Military specialist. The kind who measures threats in milliseconds.

His eyes find mine, assessment passing between us. A slight flicker tells me he knows what I am. The question is whether he considers me an asset or a threat. I don’t find out because he doesn’t engage, so I don’t either. I prefer being around men who know when to stay quiet.

Elena pulls back from Iris, hands on her shoulders, checking for damage. “Are you hurt? We barely spoke yesterday. And when you said you were nearly caught—”

“I’m okay.” Iris glances at me. Something unreadable in her expression. “Riven got me out.”

“Right. Good.” Elena’s eyes flick to me. Gratitude mixed with professional curiosity. “Thank you.”

I nod in response but don’t say more.

“Riven is the one I was telling you about, Elena,” Iris goes on.

“The hired gun,” Elena says bluntly.

“Elena!” Iris reacts sharply.

“It’s alright, Iris,” I interject. “She’s not wrong.” I turn my attention to the dark-haired woman. “Riven Barlow, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she says. “Elena Ross… Rossewyn.”

I feel my eyes widen just a tad. A Rossewyn witch. Ancient, powerful line. I’ve heard of them, but never encountered one. I make a note to keep a safe distance. If I had to go up against anyone here, I’d prefer my chances against the lethal-looking male standing beside the chopper. The witch would finish me.

“Where’s Caleb?” Iris asks, looking into the empty interior of the helicopter.

Elena gives a small snort. “He doesn’t need to be involved in everything I do.”

Iris looks surprised. “You’re telling me he doesn’t know you’re here?”

“He’ll figure it out soon enough,” says Elena. “And I guess he’ll chew me out. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“Shit,” says Iris.

‘Shit’ sounds about right. If the team is here without Craven sanction, that puts a different complexion on things.

Static crackles from Elena’s radio. A voice emerges—authority and age: “Elena. Report.”

“Viktor,” Elena responds, keying the radio. “Iris is secure.”

“Excellent. Initiate extraction protocol immediately.”

Iris stiffens. “Extraction?”