Page 82 of Forged in Fire

“I understand,” she whispers, and I can hear the tears in her voice.

“And that goes for the others, too,” I add, making sure there’s no room for misinterpretation. “Corvan, Verroway, Crowe… I can reach out and touch all of you. Driscoll’s dog may be safe, but that doesn’t mean the man won’t meet with an unfortunate accident if any of you decide to interfere. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you.” Her voice is barely audible now. “You’re covering yourself. That’s… understandable.”

“Actually, this is for her… Iris. If anyone so much as touches a hair on her head, I’ll send you Poppet’s… in a gift box. Are we clear?”

“Absolutely.” She still can’t get the tremor from her voice. “You have my word.”

Not that I set much stock in that.

“Good,” I say, and end the call.

I sit there for a moment in the shadow of the trees, watching as people make their way along the paths, filtering out to get their days started.

Malakai Steele. The name sits in my mind like a puzzle piece, significant but not yet fitting into any pattern I recognize. I’ve heard it before—rumors in Guild circles, mentions in intelligence briefings. Someone with money and influence, the kind of power that can reach into the supernatural community and pull strings.

But why would he want Kieran dead? What threat could Iris’s brother possibly pose to someone like that?

I stand and head toward an exit, just another jogger among the others.

But as I move through the park, I can’t shake the feeling that finding Malakai Steele is going to be the easy part.

Chapter 25

Iris

The garden courtyard feels like a sanctuary. The area is dotted with weathered stone benches and wild herbs that someone—perhaps Viktor—planted with meticulous care but now grow however they please. Rosemary and thyme perfume the cool air, mixing with the distant scent of coffee brewing somewhere inside the Aurora Collective’s buildings.

I need this quiet. Need the space to think before I face the others.

The empty bed this morning shouldn’t have surprised me. Riven’s an assassin, not a boyfriend looking for morning-after cuddles. But the cold sheets where his warmth should have been… it stings more than I want to admit. If last night meant something to him, would he really just disappear without a word?

Then again, maybe I imagined the whole thing. Maybe the stress finally got to me, and I dreamed up the perfect distraction from my actual problems.

Cut it out, Iris. The mission hasn’t changed.

Except everything has changed. The fight with Viktor and the others yesterday still burns in my gut. Their justification for how they forced me to leave Riven behind, their patronizing concern about my “reckless” behavior, their interference in my efforts to save Kieran—like they know better than I do what my brother needs.

What I need.

I’ve spent years searching for any trace of him, and the moment I finally have a real lead, they want to slow me down. I can’t allow that to happen again. I need them to take this seriously.

Footsteps on gravel interrupt my brooding. Light steps, hesitant. Not Riven—his approach sounds different, more controlled. Not Viktor either, who moves with definite purpose.

“Iris?”

I turn to see Ember Arrowvane hovering at the courtyard entrance. Her voice carries uncertainty, like she’s not sure she should be here.

“Morning,” I say, not exactly welcoming but not hostile either. “You’re up early.”

“I haven’t been sleeping much.” She moves closer, settling on the stone bench across from me without invitation. There’s something different about her today—a tension in her shoulders, purpose in the set of her jaw. “The dreams are getting stronger.”

Dreams. Right. The prophetic visions she mentioned at the party… before my whole world imploded. I’d filed that information away as interesting but not immediately critical, the way you do when you’re focused on more pressing concerns like survival and rescue operations.

“The ones about the chamber?” I ask.

Ember fidgets with the sleeve of her sweater, a nervous habit that makes her look younger than twenty-one. But when she meets my eyes, there’s nothing childlike in her expression.