Page 103 of Silent Shadows

Daisy comes to a sudden halt.

“You listened to that?”

I stop too, suddenly nervous.

“Yeah.”

“That’s like…” She stares at me. “A deep cut. We don’t push that one at all. None of my listeners had even heard of Twilight Zone.”

“I know.”

“You listened voluntarily?”

“I was driving through Nevada and Taylor stole aux privileges. Plus we all love The Twilight Zone.”

An incredulous laugh bursts out of her before she can stop it. Then she studies me more carefully.

“So, what did you think?”

I remember almost all of it. Mostly because it surprised me. I expected shock-jock girly podcast energy. Loud jokes. Viral clips.

Instead, I remember she lit up.

Not because of the celebrity, but because she genuinely loved the show. She rattled off episode titles from memory, connected them to modern horror, and asked thoughtful questions about Rod Serling's writing and what it felt like to be a woman working in Hollywood at that time. Halfway through, they seemed to go off-script, geeking out over practical effects and the way science fiction has always been less about monsters than people.

There was a moment near the end when the actress said she'd spent decades worrying she'd only ever be remembered for what she looked like in black-and-white television instead of the work she'd done since.

Daisy got quiet.

She told the actress, "I think people confuse being seen with being known."

I remember sitting in the car afterward thinking Daisy had let more of herself slip into that interview than she probably realized.

"You sounded different," I say.

Daisy snorts. "Good different, or 'please never publish that again' different?"

"Different in a real way. Not that you were fake in the data centers conversation. But this one… it felt like I was a fly on the wall. And after getting to know you, I know I was right. You really are that girl."

She looks over at me.

I shrug. "You weren't trying to seem entertaining or intelligent. Your enthusiasm was refreshing."

The silence stretches between us, then she looks away toward the trees.

“That’s kind of the problem,” she murmurs as wind stirs the pines overhead. “I think I got so good at being consumable that I forgot how to be…” She gestures vaguely. “A person.”

Something in my chest twists hard. Consumable. Jesus.

“Wow, that sounded dramatic,” she mutters afterward like she regrets saying it out loud.

“No,” I say gently. “I don’t think it did.”

She looks over at me then.

Really looks at me.

And suddenly I understand something terrifying: Daisy and I are actually scared of the same thing.