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?"
