Page 152 of Silent Shadows

Another:

Wait, why am I emotionally invested in Daisy going on a Bigfoot hunt?!

And somehow:

Whatever Daisy does, I trust her

“Oh God,” I whisper.

Miles turns toward me so quickly the blanket slides halfway off his shoulder.

“What?”

“They like it. They trust me.”

He blinks.

Like that answer surprises him.

Then he does something deeply annoying, and smiles.

Like this outcome feels inevitable to him.

“Yeah,” he says. “Obviously.”

I stare at him.

“What do you mean obviously?”

He gestures with one hand like this should be self-explanatory.

“You’re good at what you do. You care.”

“That sounds suspiciously like an insult.”

“It’s not.”

His voice goes quieter.

“You care in a way people can feel.”

Something tightens painfully in my chest.

Outside, rain taps harder against the windows.

Inside, the RV feels too warm.

Too small.

Too much.

I look back at my phone because eye contact feels unsafe.

“Well,” I mutter. “That’s horrifying.”

He laughs once, rough from whatever plague we picked up in the swamp.

“You’re doing that thing.”