The General's Daughter: The Mission

Lara followed Shay down the quiet hallway, each step heavier than the last. The child clung to her like a shadow afraid of being left behind, small fingers twisting into the fabric of her clothes as if letting go would make everything disappear.

The door to Shay’s room creaked open, and Lara stepped inside, her body already aching for rest. The encounter with Artemio still lingered in her bones—sharp, suffocating, and exhausting. Just one hour with him had drained her far more than she wanted to admit.

”Mommy...” Shay’s voice trembled, barely louder than a whisper.

Lara tried to walk toward the bed, but Shay’s weight made it difficult. She adjusted her hold, forcing a tired smile despite the strain.

”I’ll handle that.”

Ares’ voice cut in smoothly. He stepped forward without hesitation, his presence steady and grounding. Lara didn’t resist as he gently lifted Shay from her arms. Shay, too, offered no protest—her small body simply yielding, as if she trusted him completely.

Ares laid her down with care, tucking her beneath the covers as though she were something fragile.

”Shay, baby, be good,” he said softly, brushing a kiss against her cheek. ”Don’t make things difficult for your mommy. I just need to attend to something important.”

Before straightening, he glanced at Lara—a look that lingered, heavy with meaning she didn’t have the energy to decipher. Then he turned and left, the quiet click of the door echoing faintly behind him.

Silence settled in the room.

”Mommy...” Shay called again, her voice smaller this time, as if it might disappear entirely if she spoke any louder. ”Are you going to leave me?”

Lara froze.

The question didn’t just land—it pierced, slipping past her defenses and settling somewhere deep and fragile.

”Why would you ask me that, sweetie?” she asked, her voice softening as she sat beside the bed.

Shay hesitated. Her eyes shimmered, uncertain, searching.

”Because... Moira Torres is back,” she murmured. ”And she’s my biological mom.”

The name lingered in the air.

Moira Torres.

Shay said it so plainly—so distantly—that it almost sounded like she was talking about a stranger. Not her mother. Not the woman who gave her life.

Lara’s chest tightened.

There was no warmth in the way Shay spoke it. No instinctive attachment. Just a name... carefully held at arm’s length.

And for a fleeting moment, an uncomfortable thought surfaced—

If Moira were to hear that... would it break her heart? If it was her, she would definitely feel anguish.

The words hung in the air, fragile and heavy.

Lara’s chest tightened. For a moment, she didn’t speak.

”Would you like me to leave?” she asked instead, her voice soft but steady.

”No!” Shay’s answer came too quickly—sharp, desperate, almost panicked.

It startled Lara.

A faint, bittersweet smile touched her lips as she reached out, stroking Shay’s hair with slow, soothing motions.

”Then I won’t leave,” she said quietly.

Shay’s grip on the blanket loosened, but her expression remained troubled.

Lara started humming a lullaby as she continued to soothe the little girl. Then she remembered that she had some work to do in the island.

”But... in the next few days,” Lara added, her voice gentler now, ”I need to accompany your great-grandfather to Isla.”

No response came.

Lara frowned slightly and looked down—

Shay had already fallen asleep.

Her lashes rested against her cheeks, her breathing soft and even, as if her body had simply given up under the weight of too many emotions. Children had a way of escaping pain like that—shutting down when it became too much to bear.

Lara exhaled slowly, the tension leaving her shoulders in a quiet sigh.

She stayed there for a long moment, watching Shay sleep. Memorizing the small rise and fall of her chest. The warmth. The presence.

Then, inevitably, her thoughts drifted back to herself.

To the truth she could no longer ignore.

She had originally belonged to this time.

Once—she was certain of it—she had lived in the modern world. Somehow, impossibly, she had been cast back into an ancient era... had lived, died, and then returned.

A life within a life.

A memory that refused to fade.

Her fingers tightened slightly as realization settled deeper into her chest.

Then something crossed her mind.

Quickly, she reached for her phone, her pulse quickening as she unlocked it and opened her inbox. The results had arrived.

For a moment, she hesitated.

Then she tapped.

The document opened—three pages of cold, clinical data.

Her eyes scanned the lines and then widened. Her breath caught.

Fifty percent. She and Lucas shared fifty percent of their DNA.

Siblings.

The word echoed in her mind, loud and undeniable.

Her hunch... had been right.

She was a Norse.

A strange, almost surreal clarity washed over her. It was as if scattered fragments of her life were finally falling into place—forming a picture she had been too blind to see before.

Perhaps... that was why.

Why she had been drawn back to the past.

Why she had awakened in the body of her ancestor—Lara Norse, who died in the hands of the human traffickers.

It defied logic. Defied science. Defied everything she used to believe in.

Her father trained and raised her that way. Every action she took, every thoughts she entertained, was linked to scientific principles... to an empirical evidence.

She learned to approach everything with a critical eye, seeking explanations rooted in empirical evidence.

But then again...

Everything else that had happened to her was supernatural, one that even she find incredible.

Lara stared at the screen, her reflection faintly visible against the glow.

Once, she would have dismissed all of this as impossible.

Now?

She no longer had the luxury of disbelief.

The world had already proven to her that reality was far stranger than anything she could have imagined.

And somewhere along the way—

she had stopped trying to make sense of it.

...

Lara lowered her gaze to the document glowing on her phone, her expression unreadable as omce again, she took a cursory glance.

Minutes passed.

Whatever she was seeing, she didn’t rush it—she absorbed it.

Analyzed it.

Owned it.

Then, with a final tap, she logged out.

Nyx disappeared.

A slow, deliberate smile curved on her lips—quiet, dangerous, and far too satisfying.

As if she had just set something irreversible into motion.