Page 37 of Silent Shadows

“So,” she echoes.

“You survived your first few nights in the Machine.”

“Did I? I sustained at least three head-related injuries.”

“That was user error.”

“That was poor architectural planning.”

“The bunks are extremely functional.”

“They’re coffins with charging ports.”

“Again with the coffin thing.”

She smiles into her coffee cup this time, and I catch myself staring for half a second too long.

Bad idea. Terrible idea. I force my eyes back to the paper.

“So what’s today’s plan again?” she asks after a second.

I exhale a relieved sigh, grateful for the pivot. “Scouting first. There’s a canyon system about forty minutes east of camp that lines up with two separate sighting reports.”

“Credible reports?”

“Yes.”

“You sound very certain.”

“Because they are.”

She lifts a brow. “How do you determine that?”

I fold the newspaper, settling into familiar territory. Easier territory.

“Consistency,” I say. “Environmental overlap. Behavioral patterns. Most fake reports fall apart under basic scrutiny because people overcompensate with detail.”

“And the real ones?”

I pause, considering my words. “People who have really seen something they can’t explain tend to struggle describing it.”

She watches me intently.

“You really believe this,” she says.

It’s not a question.

I look down at the coffee in front of me, steam curling upward between us.

“Yeah,” I admit. “I do. I’ve seen enough validating evidence through our work that it’s harder to doubt things than it is to believe them.”

The thing is, I’m used to the reaction that usually follows that sentence.

Amusement. Judgment. Polite discomfort.

Daisy just rests her chin on her hand and studies me like she’s trying to solve something.

“What?” I ask.