The morning light felt different—cleaner somehow, like Costa del Sol had finally exhaled poison and could breathe again.
Kasper watched the brass-framed television mounted across from his hospital bed, his silver tracery flickering steadily beneath scarred skin. The news anchor's voice crackled through Costa del Sol's rebuilt broadcast network, her words carrying across frequencies that had been silent for months.
"President Rivera announced this morning that organized resistance to the government has effectively ceased," she reported, shuffling papers with mechanical precision. "With yesterday's elimination of the terrorist leadership, Costa del Sol enters a new era of peace and prosperity."
The camera cut to footage of the presidential palace steps, where Rivera stood before thousands of citizens. The man looked older—gray threading his hair, new lines carved around his eyes—but there was steel in his posture that hadn't been there a year ago.
"Let them impose their sanctions," Rivera declared, his voice carrying across the plaza. "Let distant capitals question our methods from the safety of their secure borders. Costa del Sol chose survival over approval, and our children will sleep safely because of it."
The crowd's roar shook the camera. Behind Rivera, his wife and children stood reunited after months of separation—his teenage daughter in a simple yellow dress, his younger son standing straight with the gravity of someone who'd learned too young that freedom had a price.
"Turn it off," Kasper said quietly.
Elena reached for the dial, but paused as a new segment began showing impromptu memorial walls throughout the city—photographs of the lost surrounded by candles, flowers, and hastily painted void symbols.
"The figure known locally as 'El Asesino del Vacío' has become a symbol of resistance, though international observers continue to debate the methods employed..."
An elderly woman clutched a military portrait, her weathered face set with fierce pride. "My grandson died fighting those animals. The Void Killer made sure his death meant something."
Elena clicked off the broadcast. "How does it feel? Being their symbol?"
Kasper's tracery pulsed with something between pride and revulsion. "Wrong. Santos died holding that airport line. They should remember him, not me."
"Maybe they remember you because you remember them."
The door opened and Chen stepped inside, moving with her characteristic efficiency. Something in her bearing suggested this wasn't entirely a social visit, but her usual clinical demeanor seemed softer today.
"Good. You're awake." She approached the bed directly. "We need to discuss your future."
Kasper studied her face, reading satisfaction beneath professional composure. "What kind of future?"
"The kind where you're officially recognized as a hero instead of a liability." Chen pulled a leather folder from her jacket. "The Association has granted you complete immunity for all actions taken during the Costa del Sol operation."
His silver tracery jumped with surprise. "I wasn't expecting that."
"The directors were impressed with results. A terrorist organization eliminated, corruption networks dismantled, a country stabilized." She opened the folder, revealing official documents with elaborate seals. "From their perspective, you field-tested unconventional tactics with remarkable success."
"Remarkable success," Kasper repeated, tasting the words.
"International response is mixed," Chen continued, settling into the visitor's chair. "Europe criticizes publicly while quietly lifting sanctions. The American Empire watches closely—they want to understand what worked here. Several other nations dealing with similar problems have made inquiries."
She withdrew a second set of papers—recruitment offers with salary figures that would make him wealthy for life.
"The American Empire wants you for special operations. Full colonel rank, unlimited resources. The European Union is offering consulting positions. Even the Japanese Cooperative has extended an invitation."
Kasper scanned the offers without interest. Everything a rational man would want—except peace.
"I'm not interested."
Chen's analytical gaze sharpened. "These are significant opportunities. You could write your own terms—"
"I want to go home." The words came out flat, final. "To my family. That's all I ever wanted from this."
She studied him for a long moment, calculations flickering behind her eyes. "The Association understands. After what you've accomplished here, you've earned whatever comes next."
Elena, who had been quietly listening, stepped forward. "What he's accomplished is surviving. That should be enough for anyone."
Chen nodded slowly. "Take whatever time you need. When you're ready to discuss the future—if you're ready—you know how to reach me."
After she left, Elena moved closer to the bed, her expression mixing relief with understanding.
"No more missions?" she asked.
"Not for now." His tracery pulsed with quiet determination. "The monsters are dead. Costa del Sol is safe. That's enough."
Elena smiled—the first genuine one he'd seen from her in weeks. "Good. You've done enough for one lifetime."
The Cementerio de la Esperanza crowned a hill overlooking the harbor, its white marble monuments catching afternoon light. They drove there in Miguel's old truck—a sleek 1932 Packard with chrome bumpers and whitewall tires—moving freely through neighborhoods where children played and vendors sold their wares without fear.
The first grave sat in the newer section, covered with flowers from grateful strangers.
Carlos Eduardo Martinez
1901-1925
"The void remembers, but so does the light"
Elena knelt beside the marker, fingers tracing carved letters.
"We did it, Carlos. The harbor is free. Children swim where you used to play."
Kasper stood behind her, silver tracery pulsing with quiet grief. Carlos had died before Kasper arrived, but his last words had become the foundation of everything that followed.
When Elena rose, tears tracked her cheeks, but her expression held peace.
They moved to the second grave—a modest marker that drew Kasper's breath from his lungs.
Marisol Esperanza Santos
1908-1930
"She brought light to dark places"
Fresh flowers covered the grave—orchids and roses that spoke of someone who had been loved deeply. A small shrine held battery-powered candles that would burn through the night, and a framed photograph showed a beautiful young woman with kind eyes and enhancement ports that gleamed like jewelry.
Kasper knelt beside the grave, tracery flickering with complex pain. The memory hit him like a physical blow—not just finding her on that gurney at The Farm, enhancement ports crudely ripped out, breathing shallow and fading, but everything that had come before. The nights at Los Sueños when she'd been his refuge from the war. Her gentle hands tracing his silver tracery. The way she'd seen through his reputation to the man beneath.
"I'm sorry I couldn't save you," he whispered, voice cracking. "I'm sorry it took so long to stop them. You deserved better than what they did to you. Better than what I became trying to avenge you."
Elena placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "She knew you cared. That's why she kept your secrets."
Footsteps approached. A group of children had noticed them, the oldest stepping forward with careful politeness.
"Are you the Void Killer?" the boy asked, voice barely audible.
Kasper nodded, tracery flickering with discomfort.
"My sister was rescued from Los Sueños last month. She's safe now at the recovery center." The child withdrew a folded paper from his pocket—a crayon drawing of stick figures holding hands under a bright yellow sun, "GRACIAS" written across the top in unsteady letters.
Kasper accepted it with trembling hands, silver tracery suddenly blazing bright enough to show through his shirt. The drawing felt heavier than any weapon he'd ever carried.
"Tell her she's welcome," he whispered. "Tell her she's safe now. Tell her that good people like Marisol are watching over all of you."
The final grave occupied the section reserved for government officials and military heroes.
Dr. Santos Alejandro Mendoza
1881-1930
"He held the line"
Kasper knelt and placed his palm against warm granite, remembering the old man's steady voice, his paternal guidance, his final sacrifice at the airport.
"You were right about holding the line. About giving everything to protect what matters." His voice cracked slightly. "I kept the promise. The children are safe. Costa del Sol is free. Rivera's still standing because you taught him how to lead."
The tracery pulsed with something that might have been Santos's approval.
"I wish you could have seen it—the harbor full of fishing boats again, children playing in the plazas, families walking without fear. You made it possible, old man. Everything good that comes after, it's because you held that line when it mattered most."
Elena touched his shoulder gently. "He knows. They all know."
Outside, the sun set over a Costa del Sol that looked genuinely peaceful. Street vendors prepared for evening markets, families walked without fear, children played in parks that had been battlefields.
Art Deco towers gleamed in the golden light, their copper and brass details catching the last rays of sun. The harbor bustled with fishing boats and cargo vessels, commerce flowing freely for the first time in years. Electric trolleys hummed along restored tracks, carrying workers home to neighborhoods where street lights burned bright and safe.
"So what now?" Elena asked as they walked toward her truck.
Kasper touched the child's drawing in his pocket, feeling its weight like a promise to the dead and hope for the living.
"Now I say goodbye to my team. Then I go home. I heal. I spend time with people I love and try to remember who I was before I became what was necessary."
"And after that?"
The silver tracery pulsed beneath his skin, carrying echoes of Santos's voice, the weight of children's gratitude, the quiet satisfaction of a job finished.
"After that... we'll see. The world will keep turning. There will always be monsters that need hunting. But maybe next time, someone else can be the one to hunt them."
Elena nodded, understanding in her eyes. "The void remembers."
"And so does the light," Kasper replied, looking out over a city where children could sleep safely, where families could plan futures, where hope had room to grow again.
The war was over. Costa del Sol was free. The dead were honored, the living were safe, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, that felt like enough.
Tomorrow he would reunite with his team one final time, say the goodbyes that needed saying. Then—home. Family. Peace, however long it might last.
The rest could wait. It always did.