Page 140 of Silent Shadows

“I don’t like how he looked at you. I don’t like what he implied. I don’t like that he’s close enough to interfere, and I really don’t like that Owen showing up makes me think this is bigger than I wanted it to be.”

My throat works.

Great.

Emotional confession in a shower the size of a cereal box.

Very dignified.

“I know how to manage risk,” I say. “I can plan routes. I can outmaneuver Grant. I can protect the evidence and the team and the work. But doing all of this and not worrying about you….”

For a second, she says nothing.

Then her face softens. Not in pity. Something tender.

“Miles.”

I shake my head. “I know. I know that’s not your problem. I know we said no one can know. I know I can’t act like you’re different in front of everyone else.”

“I am different.”

My eyes snap to hers.

Her cheeks are pink from the steam. Her hair is wet and slicked back from her face, mud still stuck along her hairline. She looks at me like she’s annoyed at herself for saying it and even more annoyed that it’s true.

“I mean, for me, things are different,” she says quietly. “I’m part of this now. Not because of you, and not because of the podcast, but because I saw it too—this shit is real.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

Her gaze drops to my mouth.

All thought leaves my body.

The kiss starts slower than the other night. Less frantic. More tender.

This time, I know exactly how my hand stretches across her jaw and cheekbone. I know exactly what it means when she rises onto her toes and pulls me closer. I know exactly how little difference there is between wanting and needing when her lips are on mine.

The water runs warm over both of us. Steam fogs the mirror beyond the curtain.

Her hands slide into my hair, and I forget the mud, the maps, the rival crew, the giant impossible thing moving through the trees.

For a few minutes, there is only Daisy.

Her laugh against my mouth when I bump my elbow again.

Her whispered “Careful, Adler” before her lips meet mine again, as if she were not the least careful thing that had ever happened to me.

Her warmth. Her trust. The way she lets me hold her, not because she needs it, but because she wants to. And in some ways, that feels more perilous than anything waiting in the woods.

We break apart to catch our breath. Daisy stands in front of me under the water, hair hanging heavy and wet down her back. My heart thunders. I’ve rappelled cliffs with less adrenaline than this. I run a hand along her hairline, brushing mud off in the water.

“Let me help you,” I say, combing my other hand through her lengths, unsure of how she’ll react.

“You don’t have to⁠—”

“I know.” The words come out quieter than I intend. “I want to.”