Page 8 of Axel Martin

And something told me neither of us would survive the storm that came after.

8

Lark

Iwas editing footage when I saw it.

I had the storm paused on-screen, the static of my voice cutting in over the crackling audio. Eggs—my trusty, if sometimes erratic—drone had captured an absolutely insane lightning shot. It split the sky behind the Airstream, white-hot and violent, pure electricity frozen in time.

But that wasn’t what made my skin crawl.

It was the figure.

Off to the left. Near the trees. Half-hidden. Hooded.

Still.

Too still.

I leaned in. Rewound. Paused again.

Not a tree. Not a shadow. Definitely not a trick of the light.

Someone had been out there. Watching me.

And it wasn’t one of Axel’s guys. I would’ve remembered a face like that. Or any face. But this? This was unknown. And I didn’t like unknowns that snuck up on me in the dark.

My stomach twisted as I checked the timestamp.

That was the night before Axel had hauled me off the roof like a storm-chasing lunatic. I’d been so focused on the lightning, I hadn’t even noticed anyone nearby.

That wasn’t just unsettling. It was terrifying.

I grabbed my phone and texted him.

Lark:Hey. Weird Q. You or your guys out near the south ridge the night before we met?

A few seconds later:

Axel:No. Why?

My pulse kicked up a notch.

Lark:I just saw someone on my drone footage. Watching me. Want to take a look?

No response.

Instead, ninety seconds later, Axel knocked on my trailer door.

He studiedthe paused frame like he was back in a war zone. I watched the shift in his expression—from focused to something carved from stone.

“You’re sure this is unedited?” he asked.

“Yeah. I just pulled it from the memory card. Haven’t even posted it.”

He rewound it. Stepped through frame by frame. “They’re not close, but they’re watching. Maybe scoping the trailer.”

“Why?” I asked, dread pooling in my stomach.

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