Page 21 of Silent Shadows

“I’m trying to ease her in.”

I lag behind them as we walk toward the RV, taking in their dynamic—the ease between them.

It’s immediately obvious how close they all are. Not performative close. Not social media close. The kind of closeness built from shared exhaustion and inside jokes and years spent together in confined spaces.

For reasons I don’t entirely understand, it throws me off balance.

I step inside the RV and look around.

The interior looks like NASA had a baby with LL Bean.

To my horror, I blurt out, “Oh, God,” and course-correct in the nick of time with a podcast-approved laugh. Dazzle them, even when you’re offending them. “This is… a little more intense than I pictured.”

Monitors line the dark walls, displaying maps, thermal imaging, and drone footage. Equipment is organized with obsessive precision—labeled bins, mounted headsets, charging stations. One section looks almost medical. Another looks capable of tracking extraterrestrials.

Opposite the monitors is a camel-colored leather couch that looks as if someone’s spent long nights curled into one corner with a blanket and a laptop.

The leather is softened in the middle, one arm slightly worn darker than the other, a knit throw tossed over the back in a way that feels too accidental to be staged. It cuts through the sterile efficiency of the rest of the Machine with startling softness. String lights add to the ambiance, making it the perfect spot for a late-night recording session when I get there.

Above it, a large window frames an almost-fake-looking view of the high desert.

“This is sick,” I murmur before I can stop myself.

Miles lights up.

And I mean fully lights up.

“Oh, um, thank you,” he says, then begins talking faster. “We’ve spent years building it out. We call it the Mystery Machine. You know, like Scooby Doo. Most of the thermal systems are modified commercial rigs because the military-grade ones are impossible to source legally, which, to be clear, we do not attempt to do illegally either⁠—”

“Miles,” Maya says.

“Right. Anyway.” He gestures vaguely. “We optimized for mobility and environmental adaptability. There’s redundancy in most major systems because field failure rates increase significantly in remote terrain, especially with temperature fluctuation, and⁠—”

He stops. Like he just became aware he’s rambling.

“…I’m doing too much right now, aren’t I?”

“A little,” Jax says, snickering.

I should find it annoying. Instead, something close to amusement flickers in me.

“It’s fine,” I say, setting my bag down. “I like passionate people.”

The second the words leave my mouth, something shifts.

Tiny. Almost invisible.

Miles clears his throat and looks away first.

Interesting.

Taylor notices, too, because her brows scrunch, and her grin turns feral.

“Let me show you your bunk, girl.” Taylor grabs my overnight bag before I can protest and disappears deeper into the RV. “It’s only a little haunted.”

“It’s not haunted,” Miles calls from the front.

“You don’t know that,” Taylor yells back.