Being shaken to death by a Hawaiian tourist look-alike was not how Arena imagined her death.
Being a spy was something like standing on the south shore fending off a hurricane with a poncho and an umbrella.
You never really know what's coming. A small wave, or maybe a big one. All you can really do is hope that when it comes, you can surf over it, instead of drown in its monstrosity.
I never tired of picturing sharks.
It was all balance. But then, she already knew that from surfing.