Page 158 of Silent Shadows

Paper rustles on her end.

“They want integrations.”

My brain stalls.

“What kind of integrations?”

“Wellness brands.”

“Bigfoot wellness?”

“Outdoor gear.”

“Okay.”

“The board is getting excited. One of the investors literally said—and I quote—‘This could be bigger than My Favorite Murder.’”

I stare into the trees.

What the actual fuck?

“You still there?” Marissa asks.

“Yes.”

“You should be screaming.”

“I think the cold meds stole my emotions.”

She laughs again.

But underneath it there’s something sharper.

Excitement. Pressure. Momentum.

I feel it too. That familiar hum. The one I used to love.

The one that ruined sleep and relationships and weekends and made me forget to eat lunch because maybe this next thing mattered.

Career energy. Success energy. The intoxicating, terrifying feeling of this might actually happen. But now I’m feeling torn between protecting this little family and telling this story—or ones like it. My grip tightens around the phone.

“What do they want?” I ask quietly.

Marissa exhales.

There it is—the shift.

“Well.”

I know that “well.” That “well” means complication.

“That depends.”

“On?”

“The ending.”

The word lands uncomfortably.