Epilogue
The first sunrise of the new year lifted higher across Bondi Beach, and the blazing orb turned the ocean to molten gold. Waves rolled in, long and clean, the kind of perfect sets that drew every surfer in Sydney out before the rest of the nation thought about breakfast.
Levi Rourke straddled his board past the break, saltwater dripped off his shoulders, and his wet hair was slicked back. Out here, there was no mission, no extraction countdown, just the hiss of foam dissolving and the pulse of the sea under his board.
Instinctively, Levi bent down and paddled hard, feeling the deep pull of the wave beneath him.
The lift of the ocean was clean and powerful.
Levi caught it just right, popping to his feet with practiced skill.
The world narrowed to speed and sound. Exhilarated, he loved the rush of water slicing beneath his board.
Spray hit his face as he carved through the barrel, and a low shout of absolute joy ripped from his throat.
For a few fleeting seconds, there was nothing but freedom. No shadows. No Guardian. No past and no future.
Just him. Just the water. Pure euphoria.
He kicked out just before the wave closed, laughing as he crashed into the shallows. The laughter felt strange, rusty. He hadn’t laughed like that in years.
After climbing back onto his board, he lazily paddled back to shore.
The beach was crowded with revelers. As always on the holidays, families set up umbrellas, music thumped faintly from portable speakers, and kids ran in the surf.
When he hit the shallows, he slung the board under his arm and started toward the shoreline.
The comm ping came as an insistent vibration against his ear, silent for anyone else.
He closed his eyes and sighed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He tapped his ear. “Z,” he said, the easy warmth in his tone edging into steel.
Con’s voice crackled in his ear, amused and dry. “Didn’t peg you for the tourist type, mate. You’re on half the live feeds down here. Guardian’s analysts just spotted you surfing. I was taking bets on how long it’d take before you got bored.”
“Bored? I’m starting to like it here.” Levi grinned, dropping his board into the sand. “Sunshine. Salt water. Nobody trying to kill me. You should try it sometime.”
Con snorted. “Yeah, well, your holiday’s officially over. Wheels up in four hours. Target’s in Venezuela—name’s Morales. You’ll get full intel onboard.”
Levi’s grin faded just a touch. “Venezuela, huh? Long way to go to enhance my tan.”
“Yeah, Western side. Jungle country. Cartel’s moving product by the ton, using private airstrips and military escorts. They’re calling it an airstrip bridge. The guy in charge has the government in his pocket, and he needs to disappear. The Council signed off five hours ago.”
Levi turned and watched the waves roll back and forth, each one collapsing with perfect rhythm. “You sure you’ve got the right guy? I’m on a streak here—haven’t blown up a damn thing all week.”
“Then you’re overdue.”
Levi chuckled under his breath. “Yeah, maybe I am.”
Con’s voice softened a fraction. “You good, Berserker?”
Levi looked out across the ocean. The horizon was blindingly bright, endless. “Always.”
He tapped the comm off and stood still for a moment, listening to the surf. The laughter and the noise of the busy beach blurred into the distance. The water shimmered, alive and untamed, and something restless in his blood answered.
He turned toward the parking lot, board under his arm, wet sand clinging to his feet.
By the time the next wave broke, Levi Rourke was gone. He was heading for another continent, another mission, and to become the shadow that would find and eliminate yet another monster.