Page 97 of Silent Shadows

“I’m okay,” I whisper eventually, reaching to hold the hand that brushes my arm.

“I know.” But he doesn’t move away. Neither do I.

The moonlight casts soft silver across his face, catching in the dark, short curls falling over his forehead.

He looks wrecked. Beautiful in that deeply human way he always is when he stops trying so hard.

“What was it about?” he asks, almost in a whisper.

I hesitate. Then shrug one shoulder.

“My mom.”

Something in his expression softens.

“Oh.”

Yeah. Oh.

For a second neither of us speaks. Then before I can fully process what’s happening, Miles stands and helps me up. He lies down on his back and guides me down beside him, my head resting on his chest. Our legs naturally intertwine, and I almost let out an embarrassing whimper at how perfectly I fit against him. He smooths a hand over my hair, keeping me tight against him, and I breathe him in.

And then, Miles carefully leans in and presses the softest kiss against my forehead.

I look up at him as my entire body melts into him, reaching a hand to cradle his neck.

When he pulls back from my forehead, he looks almost startled by himself.

Like he didn’t mean to do it consciously. Which makes it worse. Or better. I can’t decide. All I know is that, despite being in a rickety cabin on stilts with dangerous men and cryptids somewhere outside, being in Miles’s arms is the safest I’ve felt in a long time.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispers into my hair. I let out a content sigh and instinctively nuzzle into him, drifting into a deep sleep.

chapter

thirteen

MILES

I wake up warm. That’s the first thing I notice. Warm and comfortable and relaxed in a way that immediately feels suspicious.

Then the walkie clipped near my backpack explodes with static.

“MILES.”

I jerk awake hard enough to nearly fall off the cot.

Except, I can’t. Because Daisy is asleep against my chest.

One of my arms wrapped around her waist, as if at some point during the night my subconscious had fully given up pretending to be professional.

The radio crackles again.

“MILES ADLER IF YOU DON’T ANSWER THIS WALKIE I’M ASSUMING YOU DIED,” Taylor yells.

Daisy makes a muffled sound somewhere against my hoodie that suspiciously resembles laughter.

Very carefully—not moving my arm from around Daisy because I think removing it might kill me—I stretch across the cot and grab the walkie with my free hand.

“Taylor?” I croak.