Page 156 of Silent Shadows

One of his arms folds awkwardly across his middle, and the other drapes across my hip. His glasses are crooked, a blanket tangled around his waist like he lost a fight with it. His hair is worse now.

He’s sick. Pale. Half-dead from swamp plague. But something about seeing him asleep makes him softer instead of messier. Like exhaustion finally forced all the carefulness out of him.

His hand twitches on my hip and my chest squeezes. Annoyingly. I look away because apparently feelings are contagious now.

The laptop screen flashes alive again. Comments. More comments. I blink at the numbers. Then blink harder. Because there are significantly more numbers.

The first episode is live, and it has exploded.

Not viral-viral. But enough.

Enough that the dopamine part of my brain perks up despite the cold meds.

Enough that the career part of me—the part that hasn’t felt fully alive in months—sits up straighter.

I scroll.

Okay wait why am I invested in cryptid people now?!

It’s giving modern day X-Files and I’m so here for it

Never thought the girl who taught me how to give a great blow job would be reporting on Bigfoot, but here we are and I couldn’t be happier.

I’d laugh if it didn’t hurt.

But shit, this might actually work.

My inbox is filled with repost notifications. People sharing their theories. Getting inspired to do their own research. Someone else made a theory thread.

Three outdoors creators reposted, which is new for me.

I’m halfway through a comment thread debating where we are when my phone lights up with Marissa calling.

I silence the call and slowly slip out of his lap. Just as I’m shifting off the couch, he moves, brows pinching. Coughing once. Still asleep. I glance at him. Then back at the phone.

And she’s already calling again.

Marissa is calling, not texting, and she’s called twice. That means this is work. Urgent work. My stomach twists. I grab my flannel and tiptoe toward the door.

Outside, the world smells scrubbed clean. Wet pine. Mud. Cool air and damp earth.

The sky is clearing in slow patches, clouds thinning into streaks of gray-blue above the trees. Water drips lazily from branches. It feels like the forest itself is exhaling.

I answer on the second ring.

“Hey.”

“Daisy Anne Bennett.”

Uh-oh.

That tone. That tone means chaos.

“What happened?”

“What happened?” Marissa nearly screeches. “YOU happened.”

I wince and step farther from the RV.