Page 179 of Silent Shadows

The room suddenly feels bigger. Warmer. Something buzzes low under my ribs.

“Anything else, my queen?”

My next words come before fear can stop them.

“And I step down from The DL.”

Her face stills. She’s not shocked, but she’s curious.

“You sure?”

Am I? I look around the apartment. The life. The shell. The version of me that always knows how to pose. Then I think about Miles shoving me up against a tree and claiming me in the woods and never feeling more alive than that girl in that moment.

A laugh slips out of me almost in disbelief.

“I think,” I say slowly, “I want to see what happens if I stop trying so hard to be who everyone expects.”

Marissa reaches over and squeezes my knee, smiling.

“That sounds like the beginning of something.”

Outside, the city keeps moving. But for the first time since coming home, it feels less like a cage. Less like something I have to squeeze myself into. More like a place to launch from.

Somewhere between diner breakfasts, thermal footage, and a man who believes in impossible things, I started believing in them too.

chapter

twenty-four

MILES

Every time I forget she left, the RV finds a way to remind me. This morning, it’s her favorite coffee mug, still sitting unused in the drying rack.

I haven’t slept. Not really. It’s been less than a week since she slept with me in my bunk, and it already feels too big, too cold.

So instead of sleeping, I just sort of drift in and out of whatever miserable psychological holding pattern happens when grief and confusion team up against you.

At some point around five a.m., I make coffee. I instinctively reach for her mug to make her a cup before I realize. Cool. Excellent. No emotional implications there.

Outside, the morning hangs gray and wet over camp. The rain stopped sometime before dawn, leaving the trees dripping and the air sharp enough to sting in my lungs.

I stand beside the RV with a mug in one hand and absolutely no idea what to do with myself. The ridge line disappears into mist.

Usually, mornings like this feel electric. Like something impossible might finally step out of the trees if I just stay patient enough.

Today? Nothing. Just tired and a little broken.

Jax climbs out of the RV rubbing his eyes and looks at me.

“Dude, you look like shit,” he says, wincing.

I stare at him. “Huh?”

“You should eat breakfast or something.”

Thoughts of that first diner breakfast with Daisy fill my mind. Toast and eggs and a natural togetherness that felt impossible.

“You there, bud?” Taylor’s voice cuts through my memories and I look up to see her, Maya, and Jax all staring at me with concerned looks on their faces.