Page 47 of Silent Shadows

“I understand the assignment,” I say finally, quieter now. “Okay? We need this to work.”

That part, at least, is true.

Because whatever this banter between Daisy and me is, it cannot screw this up.

We need the exposure. We need the money. We need people taking this seriously before we run out of road.

Maya studies me another second before nodding once.

“Good,” she says.

Outside, Jax yells, “Fire’s up!”

And just like that, the moment’s over.

Nothing better than feeling psychologically destabilized in my own mobile research unit.

The campfire crackles low and warm against the dark.

We set up just outside the Machine, tucked into a small clearing ringed by sandstone and scrub brush. The desert cools quickly after sunset, so much that everyone ends up pulling on hoodies or jackets.

Taylor makes a beeline for the closest camp chair, wrapping herself in a blanket like a tiny chaotic burrito.

Jax mans the hot dogs with far too much confidence.

“These are gonna change your life,” he says.

“They’re gas station hot dogs,” Daisy replies flatly.

“Exactly.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

I settle onto a log across from her, trying very hard not to notice how the firelight catches in her dark hair.

Trying and failing.

Because she looks different out here at night.

Softer.

Like the desert’s worn some of her armor down already.

Jax passes her a roasting stick. “After a day like today, you’re one of us now,” he says.

“I don’t know, you guys are kind of crazy,” she says jokingly, accepting it anyway.

Taylor points aggressively. “That’s our brand.”

I hate it, but she’s right.

The fire cracks softly between us and sparks climb into the dark. Wind moves low through camp, carrying smoke and desert dust. Daisy sits cross-legged across from us, wrapped in one of Maya’s extra blankets. Unlike every other sleepy person around the fire, her expression is alert.

“So, can I ask you guys some questions?” Daisy asks, hopeful. “I don’t even have my recorder with me. I just want some grounding. An understanding of sorts.”

Jax points at her with a marshmallow skewer.

“Wondering if we’re in a cult?” he wiggles his eyebrows.