Chapter 300: A Useless Pawn?

Just a few meters from Leonard Norse’s residence stood Artemio’s private quarters—close enough for him to keep an eye on the Norse family without ever appearing to do so.

Late that evening, while the compound had settled into silence, a shadow slipped between the buildings.

The man was dressed entirely in black, a cap pulled low enough to conceal most of his face. Avoiding the guards and security cameras with practiced ease, he entered Artemio’s quarters through a side entrance and made his way directly to the study.

Inside, Artemio sat behind a massive wooden desk, reading a confidential document beneath the warm glow of a desk lamp.

The door opened without a knock.

Artemio did not immediately look up.

The man stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind him.

"General, someone is investigating the incident from back then."

Artemio’s eyes lifted from the document.

His expression barely changed, but his gaze sharpened.

"Which incident?"

There had been too many over the years—operations buried beneath classified reports, people silenced, evidence erased, secrets that were never supposed to resurface. He could think of several that might become troublesome if someone started digging in the wrong place.

The man hesitated.

"It concerns the disappearance of Leonard Norse’s daughter."

Artemio froze.

For one brief second, the composure he had perfected over decades cracked.

His fingers trembled.

The document slipped from his hand and landed on the desk with a soft slap.

"Who?" His voice had dropped dangerously low. "Who is investigating it?"

"Logan Norse."

Artemio stared at him.

Logan?

Of all people, why Leonard’s son?

A cold uneasiness crept into his chest. Had they found something?

No. That was impossible.

Too many years had passed. Too many traces had been erased. There should have been nothing left for the Norse family to uncover.

And yet Artemio knew better than anyone that buried secrets had a way of clawing their way back to the surface.

"Do we know what triggered the investigation?"

"According to our intel, Leonard’s wife recently dreamed about her daughter. She apparently became convinced that the girl might still be alive. Logan started looking into the old case afterward."

Silence filled the study.

Then Artemio slowly leaned back in his chair.

A dream.

That was all?

Some of the tension left his shoulders.

He released a long breath, almost scoffing at himself for allowing a moment of panic to get the better of him. If Logan was investigating merely to indulge his mother’s desperate hope, then there was little reason for concern.

What Artemio did not know was that the story had been deliberately planted.

Logan had expected someone to notice his investigation. The dream was nothing more than bait—a harmless explanation leaked through channels he knew would eventually reach the ears of anyone with something to hide.

And Artemio had swallowed it.

Still, as the silence stretched, an image surfaced in Artemio’s mind.

Larissa Reyes.

The last time he had seen her, something about her face had unsettled him. How come he did not notice it before?

But now, with the Norse family suddenly digging into the past, the resemblance returned with disturbing clarity.

Her eyes.

The shape of her face.

Even certain expressions she made when she was angry...

They reminded him of the Norse brothers.

Far too much.

Artemio’s fingers slowly curled around the armrest.

If he had noticed the resemblance back then, he would never have sent her on that mission.

But how could he have known?

At the time, Lara—Larissa Reyes—had looked nothing like the woman standing before the world now. Her skin was several shades darker, her face marred by prominent scars, and her features was hardened by years of hard training.

Whatever resemblance she might have shared with the Norse family was buried beneath the scars and the changes in her appearance.

She was not strikingly beautiful as she was now.

Who could have imagined that a year in a coma would change her so dramatically?

The scars had faded until they were almost imperceptible. Her skin had become noticeably fairer, and the transformation had revealed delicate features that had once been hidden beneath years of damage.

Artemio’s expression darkened.

It was as if the coma had stripped away the disguise fate had given her.

And now, when he looked back at her memories, he could finally see it.

The resemblance to the Norse brothers had been there all along.

He simply hadn’t been able to see it.

Artemio’s throat tightened.

If Logan discovered the truth before he did, the consequences would be catastrophic.

For the first time in a long while, Artemio felt something he had almost forgotten.

Fear.

His gaze hardened.

"Keep watching Logan," he ordered. "I want to know who he speaks to, where he goes, and what he finds."

The man nodded. "Yes, General."

"And one more thing."

The informant stopped at the door.

Artemio’s eyes narrowed as Larissa’s face remained vivid in his mind.

"Find out everything you can about Larissa Reyes."

A brief silence followed.

"Everything?"

Artemio’s eyes narrowed.

"Why ask?" His voice was low and impatient. "Of course, I want to know her schedule. Where she goes. Who she meets. Who has access to her."

The man nodded silently.

Artemio leaned back in his chair, his expression turning cold.

"And if she is still unwilling to make a move, we eliminate her."

The man’s eyes flickered.

"She has outlived her usefulness," Artemio continued. "I have no use for a disobedient pawn—especially one who has become dangerous."

"Yes, General."

The man turned and left.

The door clicked shut, leaving Artemio alone in the dimly lit study.

For decades, he had believed that particular secret was buried beyond anyone’s reach. More importantly, he had believed that he had complete control over Lara.

He had broken her spirit, shaped her into a weapon, and pointed her toward the enemies he wanted destroyed.

But the accident had changed everything.

Lara had not only failed her mission. She had awakened beyond his control.

And now, as old memories resurfaced and her resemblance to the Norse family became impossible to ignore, an unsettling thought crept into Artemio’s mind.

What if the weapon he had spent years forging was no longer aimed at his enemies?

What if it had already turned in his direction?

For the first time, Artemio wondered if the blade he had forged with his own hands would be the very blade that eventually stabbed him in the back.