The General's Daughter: The Mission

The way he said really lingered in the air.

As if he knew more than he was telling her... and was simply deciding how much she deserved to hear.

Yannis glanced at his watch, the movement deliberate, unhurried.

”It’s almost lunchtime,” he said lightly. ”There’s a good restaurant just across the street. Why don’t you accompany me?”

The offer was smooth and casual.

Lara studied him. The doctor’s coat was gone; he had loosened his tie, sleeves slightly rolled up, as if stepping out of professional territory and into something more personal.

”What kind of restaurant?” she asked instead of answering.

His lips curved faintly. He seemed pleased she hadn’t refused outright.

”Modern Mediterranean,” he replied. ”They do an excellent grilled sea bass. Light, clean flavors. Not the greasy kind that leaves you regretting life decisions.”

Lara’s eyes appeared vibrant, shifting between green, then gold, then brown.

Then her eyebrow lifted. ”You assume I eat healthy and light?”

”I assume you’re disciplined,” he corrected calmly. ”You are still recovering. You should eat a balanced, healthy diet.”

”And if I don’t like fish?” she countered.

”They also serve slow-cooked lamb with rosemary and garlic,” he said smoothly. ”Tender enough to cut with a fork. Or if you prefer something safer, their Tagliatelle alla Bolognese is surprisingly good.”

”You’ve memorized the menu.”

”I value efficiency,” he replied. ”Knowing your options saves time.”

Lara tilted her head slightly. ”Or gives you control.”

His gaze flickered — quick, assessing — then he smiled again, unfazed.

”Control is simply preparation,” he said. ”Preparation reduces chaos.”

”And you dislike chaos?”

”Yes. I also dislike unpredictability.”

There it was again. That undercurrent.

...

They cross the street. It was close enough to the hospital that he could return quickly if needed.

Far enough to create privacy.

”And why,” Lara asked slowly, ”do you suddenly feel like feeding me?”

Yannis met her eyes directly.

”You’ve just undergone intensive hypnosis,” he said. ”Your blood sugar is likely low. The brain consumes a significant amount of energy during retrieval work.”

She gave him a dry look. ”So this is a medical concern?”

”Partly.”

”Partly?”

”Conversation flows better outside white walls.”

Ah. So that was it.

”Don’t worry,” he added with a faint smile. ”It’s on me.”

Of course it is, she thought. Nothing in the world is free.

They walked toward the door together.

Two people are heading to lunch.

Two strategists pretending it was only about food.

...

Inside a private room miles away from the hospital, Artemio Fuegerra sat alone in the dim glow of flickering monitors.

The room was cold. Industrial. Bare concrete walls. No windows. Just wires, steel shelves, and the faint hum of surveillance equipment working overtime. A single metal chair scraped faintly against the floor every time he shifted his weight.

He didn’t. He sat perfectly still.

It was his private space, accessible only to his most trusted confidants.

On the largest screen in front of him, the live feed streamed from the hospital room — Yannis leaning forward, voice low and controlled, guiding Lara deeper into hypnosis. The camera angle caught every subtle twitch of her fingers, every tremor in her breathing.

Artemio didn’t blink.

He listened as Lara spoke.

Her voice was distant, almost dreamy— like she was talking from underwater.

She spoke of kings and bloodlines.

An empire called Azurverda.

Artemio’s smirked.

Azurverda. The old name of Azuverda.

A grand empire? Royal courts?

This wasn’t trauma memory. This was fantasy.

His brows furrowed, but not in confusion — in calculation.

She hit her head hard in that accident. That much was documented. Brain swelling. Short-term disorientation.

Hallucinations weren’t uncommon. It was entirely possible she had been reading some romantic historical novel before the crash.

The human brain was creative when it was fractured.

Still...

He leaned forward slightly.

Lara’s tone shifted as Yannis introduced retrieval cues — subtle sensory triggers, carefully chosen words designed to unlock buried memory pathways.

Artemio recognized the technique. He had studied enough psychology to understand the basics.

Yannis was good. Too good.

The doctor’s voice lowered further, almost intimate. Lara’s breathing changed. Her fingers twitched.

Then she described details no romance novel would bother with.

The assassin that she was.

A single body collapsing in a room that cost more than most people’s lifetime earnings.

A chandelier still glittering above as if nothing had happened. Classical music continued to play while a red stain spread across the white carpet in a grand hotel, like a blooming red camelia.

There were balconies in Monaco. Private yachts in the Island of Nice. Rooftop bars in Tokyo where women sipped champagne and a handshake sealed someone’s fate.

There were coded messages hidden inside love letters. Contracts disguised as dinner invitations.

Artemio’s eyes sharpened. Yannis’ cues were so powerful that even he thought he was in those places as the assassin himself.

But why did Lara seemed not so affected when she woke up?

Did the retireval cues not work?

He stood and started pacing.

A faint muscle in his cheek ticked.

He didn’t like variables he couldn’t predict.

If Lara was just pretending not to remember, it was dangerously precise.

If she wasn’t...

His fingers tapped once against the metal armrest — the only sign of his impatience.

He had already invested too much in waiting. Too much in observing. He had assumed time was on his side. That whatever was happening inside her fractured mind would collapse under medical explanation.

But if Yannis failed,

if Lara still could not remember things she was supposed to...

that would complicate everything.

The feed showed Yannis showing her the photo journal. Another cue to help her remember.

Artemio relaxed.

Yannis was just not good. He was the best in his field. He could not fail.

The chair screeched as he sat back.

He had waited long enough.

If Lara’s memories were evolving faster than expected, then so would his plans.

He reached for his phone, eyes never leaving the screen.

He could no longer afford to sit in the shadows and watch.

He needed to move.

And when Artemio Fuegerra decided to move, someone always paid for it.