Page 3 of Axel Martin

Then, quietly: “I’m not afraid of storms, Axel. But sometimes I get tired of chasing them.”

She told me the rest of the story. She was waving to her Dad as he was in a boat. One moment he was there, and then a freak storm came in and he was gone.

And I saw it then—the reason she ran headfirst into danger. If she was the one running toward the storm, then at least she wasn’t waiting for it to take something from her again.

I got up and stood beside her. “Control’s an illusion,” I said. “All we can do is be ready. And hold on to the people who matter.”

She gazed up at me, something quiet and fierce in her eyes.

Then lightning flashed again. The cabin lit up like daylight. Thunder cracked.

She flinched.

I reached out, steadying her hand with mine.

And I didn’t let go.

4

Axel

By morning, the storm was gone—but the tension it left behind still clung to the air like mist.

Lark stood at my kitchen counter wrapped in my oversized hoodie, the sleeves swallowing her hands, her messy bun looking like it had lost the will to fight gravity. She was humming.

I sat at the table, sipping my coffee like it was part of a combat ritual.

“You’re staring,” she said without even turning around.

“You’re in my sweatshirt.”

“Technically, you threw it at me.”

“You weren’t wearing pants.”

“I was wrapped in a blanket,” she shot back, grinning over her shoulder. “You’re welcome, by the way, for keeping the mood PG.”

I grunted, but the corner of my mouth twitched. I couldn’t help it.

She poured herself a mug and slid into the seat across from me, one bare foot tucked under her leg like she belonged there.

“Thanks for last night,” she said after a moment. “For not pushing. For listening. I have never told anyone about my Dad.”

I didn’t answer right away. Just watched her—messy, unpredictable, too damn comfortable in my space. She wore no makeup. She didn’t need it.

“You were right,” I finally said. “You do talk a lot when you’re nervous.”

She laughed softly, her eyes crinkling. “Guess you’ll have to keep me calm then, mountain man.”

Before I could respond, the front door flew open.

“Axel?” a voice called. “You alive?”

Cooper stepped in, followed by Rush and Jack—three massive, wet, dirt-covered SEALs who stopped in the doorway like they’d just wandered into a romantic comedy set.

Lark blinked.

“Whoa,” she said, eyes bouncing from one muscled frame to the next. “Is there, like… a cloning facility in this forest for muscular men? Now I feel wildly underdressed.”

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