Page 40 of Silent Shadows

“I think I already did.” I pause, setting my stuff down. “One of them made fun of me for being from LA by acting all surprised that I didn’t order avocado toast.”

“That's funny.”

“It was,” I mutter, annoyed.

I hear her typing stop on the other end.

Then her tone shifts almost imperceptibly, but I pick up on it right away.

“Hey,” she says. “You know you got this, right?”

Something in my stomach tightens. Marissa’s faith in me clashes with my hesitations around making this too much of a joke.

“I do.” I think about the backpack sitting by my feet, filled with a mess of cords and batteries and new, unfamiliar equipment I still barely know how to use.

I continue: “There’s definitely something here, but I can’t tell if it’s… enough. Like, enough to be fresh and cool and…” I stop talking because I don’t know how to voice all the doubts floating in my head without imploding. I built half my career telling new podcasters to stay fresh or get replaced. And now I’m on the wrong side of the conversation. The pressure is real.

“Be honest with me,” I say before I can stop myself. “Do you think this is a stupid boondoggle?”

Marissa laughs, then goes quiet again.

Long enough that I know she’s being deliberate with her answer.

“I think,” she says slowly, “We need to hear what the first episode sounds like. And I know it’s going to be amazing.”

Something sinks low in my stomach. Marissa has an aggressive level of belief in me even when I don’t deserve it. Even when I’m spiraling or doubting or one bad interview away from setting my entire brand on fire.

If even she isn’t sure⁠—

“Daisy,” she says gently. “Hey.”

“I’m here.”

“You don’t have to figure it all out on day one.”

I look out toward the Machine again.

At Miles stepping outside with Taylor, still mid-explanation, gesturing at a topographic map like his life depends on it.

At the way the rest of them instinctively orbit each other.

At this whole strange little world I still can’t decide if I’m exposing or embracing.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “I know.”

“Do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Don’t try to produce it while you’re living it.”

Damn. That hits.

“You know me too well,” I mutter.

“That’s literally my job.” I can hear her smile again now. “Now go chase Bigfoot or whatever.”

“Cryptids,” Miles corrects from behind me.