Return of the General's Daughter

Lara and Jethru dropped to the ground beside Angus and Aramis with a muffled thud, the impact causing a slight indentation on the grassy patch. Their breaths came fast, but they wasted no time — eyes scanning the darkness for signs of pursuit.

Moments later, another black-clad figure descended soundlessly from the shadows, landing with the grace of a panther.

Finally, Alaric slid down from Lara’s rope, his boots hitting the earth with a dull crunch. The group barely had a chance to catch their breath before the distant clamor of boots and shouts echoed through the estate.

Guards.

And they were closing in fast.

Without a word, the group bolted toward the thick line of trees behind the mansion. The night wrapped around them like a cloak, shadows curling at their heels as they moved.

Aramis paused only once, fingers moving in a blur as he nocked an arrow. The bowstring sang softly in the dark, and the arrow whispered through the air, followed quickly by another. He didn’t wait to see if they hit their mark — he was already running, blending into the darkness.

The guards were fast, but the intruders were faster. They slipped through like fleeting shadows, moving as if the night itself bent to their will. The darkness was no hindrance — every step was sure, every movement swift.

Behind them, the guards stumbled and cursed, their torches bobbing clumsily through the dark.