Chapter 418

The flare split the night sky. Evelyn Laurent's pupils contracted sharply.

"They have reinforcements."

Her fingers whitened around the dagger's hilt.

Ethan Sullivan lay motionless in the bushes beside her, his breathing barely audible. "At least three squads incoming."

The sea breeze carried salt and decay through the palm fronds.

Evelyn squinted. Shadows darted behind distant boulders—too fluid, too practiced. These weren't amateurs.

"Not regular pirates," she whispered. "Their formations are military-grade."

Moonlight carved Ethan's profile into something glacial.

"Black Sharks." The name dropped like shrapnel. "Southeast Asia's most vicious syndicate. Hijacked a merchant vessel last year."

Evelyn's nails bit into her palms. She remembered last month's news—a vanished cargo ship, thirty crewmen still missing.

"So they're after—"

"This island's strategic position." Ethan cut her off. "It commands the shipping lane."

Crunching shells.

Both froze.

A scar-faced mercenary passed five meters away, assault rifle sweeping. The infrared dot danced across tree trunks like a malevolent firefly.

Evelyn's muscles coiled.

"Hold." Ethan's breath grazed her ear. "He's probing."

As predicted, the mercenary spun and fired three rounds into the shrubs. Bullets grazed Evelyn's hair, scorching the air.

"Two hundred meters southeast—sniper." Ethan's voice was Arctic calm. "On three, roll to nine o'clock."

Copper flooded Evelyn's mouth. She'd bitten through her lip.

"One."

Boots advanced.

"Two."

A scope glinted in the palms.

"Three!"

Evelyn exploded forward as a suppressed shot spat past. Her former cover sprouted a smoking hole.

Ethan vanished.

The mercenary gurgled—a crimson line opened across his throat. As he collapsed, Evelyn glimpsed Ethan's silhouette slicing through moonlight like a specter.

The boardroom strategist moved with Special Forces lethality.

Shrill whistles pierced the night. More footfalls converged.

Evelyn pressed against boulders, her palms slick. This wasn't chance—it was a coordinated assault.

Her satellite phone glowed: NO SIGNAL.

"Jammed." Ethan reappeared, his tactical gear dark with blood. "They brought disruptors."

Evelyn seized his wrist.

"Who are you really?"

Moonlight caught his smile—gentle as a knife's edge. He pressed something cold into her hand.

A dragon insignia.

Her breath stalled.

She knew this emblem. The Navy's most elite unit: Leviathan.

"That shipwreck three years ago." Ethan's whisper carried the weight of torpedoes. "Was no accident."

Explosions rocked the island's far side. In the firestorm's glow, Evelyn saw the predator in Ethan's eyes.

"Now," he racked the rifle's slide, "let's educate these vermin on territorial sovereignty."