Page 155 of Silent Shadows

“You need DayQuil.”

“I need to review thermal footage.”

“You need to chill and eat soup.”

His expression turns deeply offended. “I’m very resilient.”

“You’re more pale than usual.”

“I’m mysterious.”

“Jax was right. You look like a Victorian child.”

He stares at me, then says, “You’d visit me in a tuberculosis sanatorium.”

I burst out laughing. Instant mistake. We both end up coughing, miserable and half-dying, then collapse at opposite ends of the couch like exhausted idiots.

The truth is, I would absolutely visit him in a tuberculosis sanatorium. I’m falling for this sick, sweet nerd of a man, and there’s not much I can do about it right now.

The rain keeps pattering loudly on the thin roof of the Machine as sounds of us typing and coughing fill the space.

And at some point between podcast analytics, thermal footage, soup debates, and arguing about whether Death Cab is still relevant, Miles falls asleep.

Not dramatically.

Just slowly. Mid-sentence. Head tipped toward me. Glasses crooked. Blanket slipping. One hand still resting near the laptop.

I stare at him for a long second.

At the unfair softness of him.

The way his face finally lets go of all that tension he carries around like muscle memory.

My chest aches.

Because all of this. The couch. The red rock outside the window. The work. The stupid domestic softness of all of it feels like something someone like me isn’t supposed to want this fast.

And yet. Without thinking, I pull the blanket back over his shoulder.

chapter

twenty

DAISY

The rain stops sometime around late afternoon.

I know this because the silence wakes me. I had drifted off sometime after snuggling up next to Miles, my head in his lap.

One second there’s a tinny tapping overhead and Miles breathing above me.

Then next, heavy silence.

It appears the cold medicine has decided to stage a hostile takeover of my nervous system. Everything feels syrupy. Blurred around the edges.

My laptop is still open across my stomach, screen glowing with comment notifications and half-finished notes. At some point, I must’ve slumped sideways against the couch cushion because my neck protests immediately.

A blanket covers me. That feels suspicious. I glance over. Miles is asleep beside me. Still. Deep asleep.