The sun is sinking low, bleeding gold and coral across the Hawaiian sky. The beach is quieter than expected—waves whispering instead of roaring, the world softened by dusk. Ivan Blaine stands near the shoreline, dark against the glow, the ocean breeze tugging gently at his clothes like it’s trying to remember him.

He’s been here a few days now. Long enough for the weight to loosen its grip. Long enough to almost forget the shadows that usually trail him. Almost.

He closes his eyes, inhaling the clean air, letting the warmth kiss skin that’s known far colder things. No missions. No blood. No names to memorize. Just water, wind, and the illusion of peace.

Then— a presence.

Subtle. Close enough to register. Different enough to break the moment.

Ivan opens his eyes slowly, gaze drifting sideways, sharp even at rest—because no matter where he goes, the darkness never fully leaves him.

And neither, it seems, does fate.