Page 38 of Axel Martin

He kissed the top of my head. “When I get back—”

I looked up at him. “When.Notif.”

He gave a soft, sad smile. “You’re stubborn.”

“You like that about me.”

“I do.”

A silence settled between us, thick and brimming.

Then I said it—the thing I’d been holding in my chest like a live wire since the hospital.

“I love you.”

His breath caught. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Axel Martin, even if you leave muddy boots everywhere. Even if you disappear for weeks. Even if you steal all my hoodies.”

He pulled me closer. “You’re gonna marry me one day, Lark Bennett. And it’s you who steals the hoodies.”

“Only if you bring me back a souvenir.”

He laughed, but it sounded a little broken. “What do you want? A rock?”

“No. I want my sister. Alive.”

He rested his forehead against mine. “I’ll do everything I can.”

“I know.”

And we stood there in the silence, the fire crackling behind us, the scent of pine and cold mountain air wrapping around us like a promise.

35

Axel

Ipacked light.

It was a short deployment, just a recon and retrieval if all went to plan. I’d done missions like this dozens of times. But this was the first one where I didn’t feel ready to go—not because of what was ahead, but because of what I’d be leaving behind.

Lark sat on the porch steps, hair tied up in a messy knot, watching me.

“I made you something,” she said as I stepped out.

I blinked. “Youmademe something?”

She reached into her hoodie pocket and pulled out a tiny, square leather pouch. Handmade, with a slightly crooked edge, but stitched tightly with black thread. “It’s dumb. But I figured… if you’re going halfway around the world for my sister, I could at least give you something to carry.”

I took it from her gently. It smelled like her—campfire smoke, lavender shampoo, something wild.

Inside was a tiny compass.

And a folded scrap of paper.

I glanced at her. “Can I read it?”

“No. You open that if—” she swallowed, “—onlyif you’re in trouble. Or if you forget your way.”

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