Page 104 of Silent Shadows

Being misunderstood.

Being reduced to one visible thing until nobody bothers to look deeper.

Her: the loud, confident sex podcaster.

Me: the weird, nerdy conspiracy guy.

Both of us terrified that if people saw the softer authenticity underneath, they’d leave.

As we approach a cliff edge, I guide her again toward the inside of the trail. This time, when my hand brushes her lower back, she doesn’t tease me for it.

Instead, her fingers brush my forearm for balance. My entire body lights up, desperate for more of her touch.

“Oh my God,” she laughs. “That was the fastest blush I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m literally hiking.”

“You’re literally panicking,” she laughs.

I think about all the ways I’d like to make her blush in retribution.

She winks. “I see you, Miles.” I know she does.

I drag a hand down my face while she grins at me.

Instead of succumbing to embarrassment this time, instead of panic, I let myself feel seen. Because she’s not laughing at me. She likes me. God help me, she actually likes me.

By the time we reach the rendezvous point near the fire road, I realize I trust Daisy now. Far more than I ever planned to.

And worse? I think she knows it.

That night back in the Machine, exhaustion crashes through all of us hard.

The crew talks over each other for hours once we’re reunited.

Taylor dramatically recounts their “vehicular hostage situation.” Jax insists he nearly died—this time, of something other than dehydration. Maya documents everything Ridgefield did for insurance purposes with a calm that feels more unsettling than yelling would.

After everyone has settled for the night, thankful for their own tiny beds, Daisy is brushing her teeth while I linger in the tiny doorway.

I’m half asleep already, but we haven’t stopped talking all day and I don’t want it to end.

“And the thing about Appalachian migration theories is people focus too much on elevation and not enough on water access because if you look at older sighting clusters near abandoned mining routes…”

I start to drift off while standing, blinking sleep from my eyes.

“Miles?” She lets out a soft laugh. “You’re falling asleep mid-conspiracy again.”

“I was making a point.”

“You were about to fall over.”

I smile sleepily into the dim bathroom as she slides past me toward her bunk, her hands brushing my chest. “You know,” she whispers, “I like hearing you talk about this stuff.”

My chest warms where her hand was, as if she transmitted the words into my body. I watch her climb into her bunk, a little more gracefully than she did on her first night here.

I lay down, thinking about the feeling of her head on my chest last night. I fall asleep smiling.

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