Page 90 of Silent Shadows

“You’re spiraling,” she shakes her head, eyes lit with a twinkle of mischief.

“I’m assessing.”

“You’re panic-assessing.”

I push my glasses up and drag a hand down my face. “Can we just get there before you start bullying me?”

Her laugh bursts out warm and sharp into the cold air.

And somehow, being stranded in the middle of the forest, with danger somewhere in the trees and darkness closing around us, feels less terrifying than the fact that I’d follow that sound straight into the woods if it meant keeping her safe.

chapter

twelve

DAISY

The cabin is not a cabin.

The cabin is a shack on stilts. Very, very high stilts. I realize this after climbing at least ten flights of stairs.

So this is why his teenage self saw it as a treehouse.

“This,” I say as Miles pushes open the creaking wooden door, “is where horror movies happen.”

“It’s structurally sound.”

“A sentence men say right before raccoons fall through ceilings.”

Miles shines the flashlight inside first before stepping over the threshold carefully.

The little structure sits tucked deep between the pines beneath a rocky ridge, barely visible unless you knew exactly where to look. Old Forest Service markings still cling to one side, faded almost white with age.

The whole thing looks like it’s survived at least three murders and a moderate haunting.

Inside, though, it’s… surprisingly okay.

Tiny.

One room. One wood stove. Dust-covered shelves. A narrow countertop. Emergency supplies stacked in old plastic bins.

And warm. Or at least less freezing than outside.

The second the door closes behind us, the wind disappears into muffled silence.

I sigh shakily, feeling like I can breathe for what feels like the first time in an hour.

Miles jumps into action in his usual focused way. He drops his pack beside the stove, starts checking supplies, tests the lantern battery, scans the windows, evaluates the door lock.

Watching him right now is like watching someone flip on their emergency setting. Competent, steady, and calm in a way that makes my shoulders start unclenching.

“Okay,” he says finally. “Good news.”

“That implies bad news exists.”

“There’s food.”

“That’s good news.”