Page 5

Axel

I don’t invite chaos into my life. Ever. Which made what I did next feel like a full-body cramp.

“You can’t go back to the field,” I said, arms crossed, watching her toss her duffel into the back of that old Airstream like she was packing for a beach weekend, not prepping to flirt with death again.

She didn’t even look at me. “Why not? Eggs is charged. Winds are calm. I’ve got at least a two-day window.”

“Because you already got lucky once,” I said, stepping closer, “and next time, I might not be there to tackle you off a damn roof.”

She paused, then turned to face me, brow arched. “You’re not worried about me, are you?”

“You’re a reckless pain in my ass.”

“That wasn’t a no.”

“God help me,” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face. “Look. There’s a side lot behind the SEAL building. It’s got hookups. Security. Gravel. You can park there for now.”

She blinked. “Wait—are you inviting me to camp behind a military-grade SEAL headquarters?”

“I’m offering you a secure place to park your glorified toaster. Temporarily.”

“Temporarily,” she repeated, smiling like she’d just tricked me into adopting a cat. “And what’s the catch?”

“No chaos,” I said sharply. “No filming the guys. No chasing storms within twenty miles of base. And no drones buzzing the team during drills.”

She held up a hand, mock solemn. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

“Details.”

Lark’s Airstream looked ridiculous parked next to the row of blacked-out trucks and gear trailers behind the compound.

Didn’t bother her one bit.

She set up camp like she’d won the damn lottery—folding chair, solar lanterns, a weathered “Storm HQ” sign proudly hung on the door like it was her castle.

I stood on the gravel, arms crossed, trying real hard not to notice how she’d already charmed three of the guys into helping her level the trailer.

“You’re enjoying this,” I muttered when she strolled up beside me.

“I am,” she said with a grin. “You’ve got a nice view here. Trees. Mountains. Shirtless elite military men running obstacle drills.”

“You are not filming that.”

“I’m not filming. I’m appreciating.”

I narrowed my eyes at her.

She sipped her lemonade—the one she definitely didn’t have ten minutes ago—and shrugged. “Relax, Axel. I’ll stay out of trouble.”

I didn’t believe that for a second.

And yet, when I walked away…

…I didn’t tell her to leave.