Page 10 of Axel Martin

My phone buzzed just after midnight.

Silent alert. SEAL compound perimeter cam.

Lot 3. South side.

Lark’s trailer.

I was on my feet before the next ping.

“What is it?” she asked, sitting up from the couch, wrapped in one of my flannel blankets, her hair mussed and eyes wide.

“Someone’s at your trailer.”

She went pale. But she didn’t scream. Didn’t panic.

“Stay here. Lock the door behind me.”

“Axel—”

“I mean it, Lark.”

I grabbed a shirt, slipped it on, and armed myself. Then I was out the door and into the trees, moving silent and fast.

The doorto her trailer was open.

Not cracked. Not ajar.Open.

Swinging gently in the wind like it had been waiting for me.

My gut went tight.

I scanned fast, boots silent against the gravel. No movement. No sound but the trees shifting above.

Then I saw it.

Her drone case. Ripped open. Empty.

“Damn it.”

Whoever it was didn’t just break in for kicks. They came for something specific—and they got it.

Then I spotted it. Scratched into the aluminum siding near the back corner.

A jagged X slashed through a lightning bolt.

Not random. Not graffiti.

A symbol. A message.

And it was meant for her.

Lark was pacingwhen I walked in, fury and fear tangled in my chest.

“What happened?” she asked, voice tight.

“They got in,” I said. “Took your drone. Left a message. Something personal.”

She went still. “So it’s him.”

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