The General's Daughter: The Mission

When they cleared the last row of trees, the quiet whir of a golf cart cut through the morning air. Asher came into view behind the wheel, posture rigid, eyes sharp like he’d been waiting for bad news.

He received an alert of a breach in the orchard and came as fast as he could.

The second he saw Ares, he slammed the brakes and jumped out.

”Bro—what the hell happened?” His gaze swept over Lara, checking if she had injuries.

He reached Ares in two strides and caught him before he could stumble, throwing an arm around his waist and hauling him toward the cart.

Up close, the injury was obvious — blood darkening his shirt, his face pale but controlled.

The golf cart was small. Two seats. No room for anyone else. Even if Ares wanted to bring Lara, there was nowhere to put her.

”Assassins,” Ares said flatly, like he was commenting on a trivial matter. ”Most likely sent by the Hevens.”

Asher froze, ”Uncle?”

His jaw ticked, anger flashing hot and fast. It made sick sense. Their uncle had been circling the Laguna estate for years, bitter that it hadn’t fallen to him as the eldest.

He’d squandered his own inheritance from bad deals and worse habits, and now he was eyeing theirs like it was owed to him.

”That greedy bastard,” Asher muttered, climbing back behind the wheel. ”He wasted his cut, and now he wants Mom’s pie too?”

”Greedy is an understatement,” Ares said calmly. ”But he won’t get what he wants.”

”Do you have proof?” Asher pressed on the accelerator, gravel spraying behind them. ”He’s getting bold. Sending killers onto our property? He’s not even hiding it anymore.”

”He wants the Heven heirloom Mom was entrusted with,” Ares said. His voice stayed cool, but there was steel underneath. ”And he’ll burn everything down to get it.”

The mansion came into view. People were already waiting at the drop-off — the doctor with his kit, the Norse siblings lined up like a firing squad, and Scarlet pacing like she might jump out of her skin.

”Ares!” Scarlet rushed forward the second the cart stopped, grabbing his arm. ”Oh my God, I was so scared! What happened? Why were there assassins?”

Logan’s face tightened with pure annoyance.

”Scarlet, back off,” he snapped. ”He’s bleeding.”

Her face flamed red. She released Ares immediately and stepped aside, biting her lip as the doctor moved in.

”Where’s Lara?” Lucas asked, scanning the area. His voice was quiet, but it cut through the noise.

A guard shifted uneasily. ”Sir... she said she dropped something in the orchard and went back to get it.”

All three brothers went still.

They already knew assassins had breached the estate. They knew exactly where the attack happened.

And Lara had just walked back into it.

Alone.

Their eyes met — one silent exchange, all instinct.

Then they turned as one and headed straight for the orchard, strides long and urgent, tension snapping tight in the air behind them.

Because this wasn’t just bad.

This was about to get deadly if even an assassin was left in the orchard.

...

Lara indeed dropped her phone somewhere in the orchard — probably during the moment things went feral, when blades flashed, and bodies crashed between the trees, and she fought like survival was the only language left in the world.

Now the place looked wrong.

It was too clean.

The estate guards had done their job fast — frighteningly fast. No corpses. No abandoned weapons. No obvious signs that men had died screaming here less than an hour ago.

Except for the blood that remained.

Dark stains soaked into the soil like the earth itself had been wounded. Rust-colored splatter marked the tree trunks at shoulder height, higher in some places — proof of how brutal the fight had been.

Lara moved carefully, senses still on high alert, scanning shadows out of habit. Her shoes crunched softly over gravel and fallen twigs until something metallic caught her eye.

Her phone.

It had slipped beneath a thick, gnarled root that bulged out of the ground like the knuckle of some buried giant, half-swallowed by a narrow hollow underneath.

She crouched, reaching in.

Then froze.

Something was off.

The morning had gone too quiet — not peaceful quiet, but the kind that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. She held her breath and listened.

There. A faint sound.

A whimper.

Slowly, Lara lowered herself flat onto her stomach, ignoring the damp earth soaking into her clothes, and pressed her cheek to the ground to peer into the small dark space beneath the root.

At first, she saw nothing but shadows.

Then the shadows blinked.

A pair of luminous blue eyes stared back at her, wide and frightened.

Her expression softened instantly.

”Well, hey there, little thing,” she murmured, voice dropping into a gentle coax. ”Come out... you’re safe.”

She waited, patient as if speaking to a skittish child. The tiny creature shifted deeper into the hollow, trembling but not fleeing.

Seconds stretched. Nothing happened.

Footsteps pounded through the orchard.

”Lara!”

Liam’s voice cracked across the trees, sharp with urgency — then abruptly cut off when he saw her sprawled face-down in the dirt like she’d collapsed mid-mission.

Logan and Lucas reached her first, both dropping beside her, hands outstretched to haul her up.

”What the—”

”Wait,” Lara said quickly, not taking her eyes off the hole. ”There’s a pup stuck under here.”

She slid her arm in slowly, fingers brushing soft fur.

In a flash of panic, the tiny black bundle snapped — a weak growl, claws scratching her skin. Lara hissed and jerked back on instinct, more surprised than hurt.

”Okay, okay,” she muttered, flexing her stinging hand.

”Move,” Liam said, already stepping in.

He caught her by the arm and pulled her to her feet with effortless strength, positioning himself between her and the root like it was just another problem to eliminate.

Then he crouched, reached in without hesitation, and dragged out a small wriggling ball of black fur.

The pup squirmed, muddy, terrified, all ribs and attitude — but very much alive.

And suddenly, in a place that still smelled like blood and violence, that tiny furry ball felt impossibly fragile.