Page 25 of Axel Martin

Jake cursed. “Debris signature confirmed! It’s on the ground!”

We turned—and there it was.

Massive. Black. Writhing. A wedge tornado chewing its way across the horizon like it had a vendetta.

“Back in the car!” Tiff yelled.

I hesitated. Just one more shot—

A burst of wind ripped the camera off the tripod and sent it skidding across the pavement.

I dove for it, heart hammering, barely catching it before it smashed into the curb. A flying sign clipped the edge of the gas station roof and shattered a window. The wind screamed.

Okay. Enough.

I ran.

Jake had the SUV already rolling when I jumped in, camera hugged tight to my chest, lungs on fire.

“We’ve got to outrun it,” he said. “It’s tracking northeast—cutting straight across 271.”

That was the highway we were on.

Panic flickered for a second.

But I bit it down.

“Floor it,” I snapped, bracing myself. “Let’s go.”

As the tornado loomed larger in the mirror, one thought burned into my brain like lightning:

Axel can’t know about this. Not until I’m back. Not until it’s over.

23

Axel

Back on Frasier Mountain

Ihit the cabin like a man coming out of war and into a fire.

The place was quiet. Too quiet.

No note. No boots by the door. No half-drunk coffee on the porch.

I dropped my bag, crossed to the kitchen, and found her laptop open. Her last search?

Tornado activity—Oklahoma panhandle.

My stomach dropped.

I tried her phone again. Still nothing. Straight to voicemail.

I barely remembered dialing Max, but when his voice picked up, steady and deep, I knew something was wrong.

“Tessa’s with her,” he said quietly. “She was caught in a debris field. Took a hit to the head. Her friend called and told us about Lark.”

My blood went cold.

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