Page 3 of Protect Thy Enemy

The woman… her eyes, they won’t leave me alone. Just from that picture alone, I can see her fire and determination.

Identical to the man whose file is sitting right next to hers.

That’s the thing about fire.

It can forge steel or burn it to ash. And I’ve been scorched enough to know the difference.

Chapter Two

Arden

IT’S NOT HERE.

The one thing that could send me spiraling into a frantic mess is nowhere to be found. Today, of all days. I can’t even blame the universe.

I’m pretty sure it’s just me at this point.

My bedroom looks like a Category 5 hurricane swept through it. The comforter is on the floor, my closet is half empty, and the pile of laundry threatens to topple over. I shove my hands through my freshly blow-dried hair, exasperated.Where is my black lace bra?

“Pleasetell me you've seen my lucky bra,” I shout, emerging into the living room like a storm cloud.

My best friend and roommate, Luna, glances up from her laptop. She’s wearing baggy sweats and an oversized hoodie, andher hair is a wild mess tied up in a bun. Her green eyes flick over to me, then back to her screen, clearly unimpressed by my meltdown.

She’s a best-selling author who’s missed her deadline. Twice. Her agent has been on her ass to finish the final chapters of her latest historical fiction novel, but Luna is too afraid to admit she has the big “WB.”

We call it WB because the phrase “Writer’s Block” is as forbidden as He Who Shall Not Be Named in our apartment. Luna is the biggest Harry Potter fan I’ve ever met, so neither He Who Shall Not Be Named nor WB should ever be mentioned here.

And by ever, I mean never ever ever. Even if you were on fire and the last man on earth was He Who Shall Not Be Named, you must not be extinguished by said man.

You must accept your fate and be burned alive.

The last time I accidentally said his name, I almost was. Luna nearly kicked me out of the apartment, screaming bloody murder.

That was a fun one to explain to Helga, our eighty-three-year-old veteran neighbor. The poor lady thought it was finally time to pull out her revolver, which looked like it could’ve been a prop from an old Western movie.

I still haven’t forgiven Luna for how long it took me to convince Helga that no one was trying to break into her apartment and steal her “loot.”

“It’s in the dryer,” she says without missing a keystroke.

“No, it’s not,” I reply, already halfway back to double-check the dryer even though I’ve checked it twice. I’m certain it’s not there.

Luna’s voice calls out lazily behind me. “Then it grew legs and walked away.”

“You’re no help at all,” I call back as I yank open the dryer door, rummage through the pile of clothes again, and confirmwhat I already know. Not here. I march back into the living room, leveling her with an accusing glare.

“You’re sitting on it, aren’t you?”

It wouldn’t surprise me. Because of how vocal she is, I know exactly how she feels about the bra. She hates it and thinks I should have thrown it out ages ago.

Honestly, it’s seen better days. It’s ratty, and there’s a sizable hole near the clasp in the back, but that doesn’t matter to me.

Luna blinks innocently, her fingers still flying across the keyboard. “And why would I sit on your bra?”

“Because you’re a thief.” I narrow my eyes. “A sneaky, conniving thief who doesn’t believe in luck but can’t resist testing fate.”

Luna finally stops typing. “Arden. It’s just a bra.”

“It’s not just a bra!” I snap, gesturing wildly. I feel like a madwoman. “It’sthebra. The one I wore during every major test, every interview, every—”

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