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Lark

I t was supposed to be a recovery week.

Long walks. Quiet mornings. Maybe even figuring out if I wanted to get my teaching credential or go back to storm chasing with more padding and fewer stupid risks.

Instead, I found myself Googling “how to discreetly track encrypted pings across international borders.” Not helpful.

Axel was outside, walking the perimeter like someone might pop out of the forest with a missile launcher. I didn’t blame him. The text from Marley was unsettling. The pin drop from some anonymous source in Jordan? Even worse.

I was staring at her last message on my phone when I heard the door creak open.

“You’re pacing,” Axel said. “And muttering.”

“Multitasking,” I replied, scrolling through Marley’s social feed—only to find it completely wiped clean.

No photos. No tweets. No trace.

I held up the screen. “She scrubbed everything.”

He nodded. “I saw.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means she’s either in deep trouble… or she’s preparing to go somewhere she doesn’t plan to come back from.”

My stomach dropped. “You think she’s planning something that dangerous?”

“I think Marley doesn’t do anything halfway,” he said. “And she just stepped into one of the most volatile regions in the world with zero backup.”

I sat down slowly. “I should’ve stopped her, talked her down. Something. She thinks she can save every child in the world, at least she wants to save every child.”

Axel crouched in front of me, hands on my knees. “You couldn’t have. People like Marley only listen when they’re ready. You can’t carry that weight.”

I met his eyes, heart pounding. “I still love her. Even when she drives me nuts.”

“I know. And we’re going to find her. I promise.”

Axel

I didn’t make promises lightly. Especially not ones I couldn’t guarantee.

But this one—I meant it.

I stepped outside and grabbed the satellite phone I hadn’t used in months. I hit the contact marked only Bishop and waited.

One ring. Two.

Click.

“You shouldn’t have this number,” came a low, even voice.

“Neither should Marley Bennett. But she does. And now she’s missing.”

Silence.

Then, “Who’s this?”

“Axel Martin. We met in Caracas.”

Another beat. Then: “The guy with the busted shoulder who punched the Russian diplomat.”

“He insulted my teammate’s mother.”

A pause. “Fair enough.”

I didn’t smile.

“She sent me a pin,” I continued. “Amman. Outskirts. Hotel under a false name. No communication since.”

“Did she mention a file?”

My blood went cold. “No.”

“She found something,” he said grimly. “And now the people who lost it will kill to keep it buried.”

I gripped the phone tighter. “Then I need to get to her.”

“You won’t get close. Not without starting an international incident.”

“I’m not asking permission.”

“You’re not hearing me.” His voice lowered. “If she’s with me, she’s already deeper than you can go. But if she sent you that pin, it means she wants you to follow. Because she thinks she won’t make it back.”

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t.

Bishop added, “If you’re serious about finding her, pack light. No attachments. No backup. Just you.”

I ended the call.

And stood there in the stillness of the mountain air, heart racing, knowing exactly what I had to do.

But for the first time in years… I didn’t want to do it alone. I didn’t care what Bishop said, I was calling Fraiser.