Page 170 of Silent Shadows

His jaw flexes. “Daisy.”

“I’m coming.”

“You’re right. This is probably great content,” he says coldly before leaving.

The kid can’t be older than twenty. Nineteen maybe. Mud streaked across his college sweatshirt—Flagstaff, maybe. Face pale from pain. Leg bent wrong enough to make my stomach twist.

He’s rain-soaked, shivering, and terrified. He tries to smile when he sees me.

“Oh my God,” he says weakly. “Daisy Bennett.”

Something inside me breaks.

“Uh—hi, there,” I say.

“Sorry,” he says, wincing hard. “We just… We heard your show.”

My stomach turns.

“We just wanted to look, too.”

Tears sting unexpectedly.

Nearby, Miles kneels in mud stabilizing the leg while directing Owen toward comms and coordinates. Calm. Competent. Focused.

Perfect. Terrible. Beautiful. Untouchable.

“Stay with me, okay?” Miles tells the kid evenly. “You’re fine. Medics are coming.”

The kid laughs weakly. “Worth it though.”

This isn’t what I wanted. My mind spins. This sweet kid is validating all of the reasons I want this show to work. Give people something or someone to root for. Something to believe in. But not at the cost of kids getting themselves hurt. The board definitely wasn’t asking for this. They want a show—fabricated fun.

If that’s all they want, I can give it to them without being here. If I’m not here, I’m not giving any real-time indicators of where the team is, and fans aren’t literally tripping over themselves to find me or cryptids.

Everyone is better off with me back in LA.

This thought takes root over the next few hours as we get the kid to safety and tend to other stragglers. I put on my best DL with Daisy persona, flipping my hair, cracking jokes, and thanking them graciously for their listenership. All just to get them to head the fuck home.

Hours later, after medics and statements and mud and silence, I find Miles outside the RV.

Rain is starting again, and Miles packs up the maps he’d spread across the hood of the 4Runner.

He looks up at me like he’s been waiting. And suddenly I can’t breathe.

“Daisy—”

“I think I should leave,” I blurt before I can let any emotions change my mind.

He freezes.

“What? I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I just⁠—”

“People got hurt.”

“That isn’t your fault.”

I know he’s just thinking about that kid. I’m really thinking about him.