Forged in Blood

a kid. Her apartment was a shoebox above a noodle stall in Bangkok's Chinatown, the

lf-finished portrait of her brother, Aran, his lopsided grin frozen in charcoal. It'd been three weeks since

d, dropping the pencil as three men stormed in-black hoods, gloved hands, moving like shadows with purpo

nst her wrists. She kicked, her bare foot g

houted, voice crackin

e the air thickened with the stench of fish sauce and exhaust. Her heart slammed against her ribs. She twisted,

he curb, black as oil, its engine growling low. They shoved her inside, the door sliding shut with a clang that echoed in her skull. She landed on her

ed against the glare of a bare bulb swinging overhead. A warehouse loomed around her-concrete walls streaked with damp, crates stac

ed, and he shoved her down, her knees hitting the cold floor with a jolt that shot up her spine. She bi

om stone if not for the faint smirk tugging at his lips. His hair was jet-black, swept back, and his suit clung to him like it was tailored to kill. He car

, right?" His voice was smooth, silk over a blade, with a faint accent she c

Where is he? What've

ith fractures. He tossed it at her feet, and it skidded across the concrete, stopping an inch from her trembling han

er level. His eyes locked on hers, dark an

a sickening wave. "What do

b went south-my cargo's gone, and I'm out ten million baht. He swore he'd fix it, bu

d. "I don't have money

mell his cologne-something sharp, expensive, cutting through the warehouse's

her to help him dodge a gambling debt. She'd sworn never again-the shame of it still g

re," she said, forcing

er satchel beside her. It hit the floor with a thud, spilling t

ity. Male, thirty-two, Malaysian. Clean record

he stared at the too

faint scar tracing his jaw, a thin white line against

k her extra mango sticky rice when she was broke. He was a screw-up, sure, always chasing quic

ed. "There are oth

ng. "And because Aran bragged about you. Said

s calm, but her hands stayed frozen, nails digging into her palms. The wareh

scarred man, turning away. "And

mming it down in front of her. A plastic bottle of water followed, rolling to a stop against

e asked, stalling, her

" No hesitation, no title. Just

ine and a chain all at once. She could do this-one job, one night. Save Aran, then figure out how t

toward her. He turned to leave, his footsteps fading into the

e mine

he shadows and the ticking clock. Mira gripped the pen, its weight a promise and a