Page 62 of Silent Shadows

“A loudspeaker?” I blink.

“They wanted everyone to know they were serious.”

Jax rubs a hand over his face. “They blasted whooping calls through the forest for six hours.”

“They scared off every deer within ten miles,” Miles adds.

Taylor nods. “And then they filmed themselves spotting it.”

I frown. “They actually found it?”

“No.” Taylor takes a drink of her beer. “They made it.”

“They what?”

“We watched one of Grant's guys put on a werewolf costume and run through the woods.”

“You're kidding.”

“I wish.”

“They uploaded it before sunset,” Jax says. “Two million views.”

“And because we publicly questioned it,” Taylor continues, “their audience decided we were jealous.”

Miles sighs. “So we let it go, for now.”

I mull this all over, thinking through what I know about this crew.

“Do they know I’m here?” I ask.

Maya hesitates, and Miles looks at her.

“Maya?”

“I don’t think so,” she says. “But once Daisy starts posting or the show launches⁠—”

“No real-time identifiers,” Miles says instantly.

“I know.”

“No visuals that reveal camp location.”

“I know. Though you’re kind of hard to miss.”

He ignores that comment. “No names of witnesses without written consent.”

“Miles, I know.”

He looks at me then. “This is why I had the binder.”

I should make fun of him. I want to.

But the truth is, sitting there with the sound still living under my skin and the tension hanging between us, his laminated rules suddenly feel less like overkill. They feel like care.

Annoying. Smart. Hot. Responsible. Caring.

My kryptonite, apparently.