Page 32

Axel

I hadn’t planned on tracking anyone down today.

But then again, I also hadn’t expected Marley Bennett to send a midnight text that read like a prelude to war.

The second Lark went to shower, I grabbed my laptop and opened the secure drive—something I hadn’t touched in over a year.

I scanned the few names I knew Marley had been tied to in the field: journalists she mentioned, photographers, rogue stringers with questionable passports.

But one name popped up again and again in proximity to chaos: Greg Bishop.

Operative. Ghost. Hero or hazard, depending on the country.

The man didn’t exist on paper. Not anymore.

But I remembered him from a mission outside Caracas. He’d shown up in the middle of a hostage extraction with nothing but a sat phone and a knife, and somehow walked out with two prisoners and a defector. Quiet. Unshakeable. Dangerous as hell.

If Marley knew him, really knew him, she was in deeper than I thought.

Lark came back into the room, towel-drying her hair and wearing one of my hoodies that hit her mid-thigh. She paused when she saw me.

“You found something.”

I nodded, lips tight. “She’s not just visiting Gaza. She’s walking into a powder keg. And Bishop isn’t just some guy. He’s a one-man intelligence operation with more enemies than friends.”

Lark sat on the couch, her expression shifting. She didn’t look scared—just sharper. More present. “Do you think Marley’s trying to blow the whistle on something?”

“Maybe. Or maybe she already has, and now she’s trying to disappear.”

A beat passed.

“She always wanted to do something that mattered,” Lark whispered. “But she never knew how to stop once the fire started burning.”

I looked at her. “And you?”

She met my gaze. “I’m learning to stop before I burn out.”

I moved to the couch and sat beside her. “You’re not your sister.”

“I know. But part of me always wanted to be. She was brave. Fearless.”

“She was reckless,” I said gently. “You, on the other hand, are brave and smart. And maybe the best thing you can do right now is just—breathe. Stay ready. But don’t chase after a storm that isn’t yours.”

She leaned into me, her body warm against mine. “Promise you’ll tell me if you find out something more?”

“Always.”

Just then, my phone buzzed again. Another encrypted number. This one had no message—just a location pin.

A hotel on the outskirts of Amman, Jordan.

I stared at it, jaw clenched. “Looks like the trail’s already started.”

Lark peeked at the screen. “What does it mean?”

“It means either Marley wants someone to find her… or she just sent her last breadcrumb.”