Page 51 of Silent Shadows

“Most people don’t.” She shrugs like it’s nothing, but I can hear the old ache under it. “My dad’s a plastic surgeon. Very rich. Very emotionally unavailable.”

I snort before I can stop myself.

She points at me. “That wasn’t a joke.”

“No, I know. I just—sorry. The delivery caught me off guard.”

A smile tugs at her mouth anyway. She’s stronger than she knows, but there’s a quiet, nagging part of me that wishes I could've protected her from all of this.

“He dated nonstop after she died,” she continues. “He was such a cliché— always chasing women who looked perfect on paper, but never wanting them to stay. He’d draw them in with his money and success, then make it clear he’d always choose work over them, freezing them out till they left.” She tensed. “He was married to his work. I wish I didn’t have that in common with him, but I think I do.”

The firelight dances across her face as she talks. Open and unprotected. It hits me hard enough that I forget how to act normal for a second. As a breeze blows her hair across her cheek, I hold myself back from tucking it behind her ear.

“When I was eight or so, his girlfriend of the moment got really into spiritual stuff,” she says. “Crystals, energy healing, spiritual retreats, all of it.”

“That feels less church and more Sedona cult.”

“It was.” She laughs. “But in all honesty, I loved it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “It’s when I first started being open to supernatural things. It was the first time anyone had ever talked about the world like there might be more to it than what you could touch. For some kids, it felt scary, like a monster under the bed. But for me, it felt like an escape.”

Something about the way she says it settles directly into my chest.

Because I understand that. Too much.

“I know the feeling,” I say softly.

Her eyes meet mine. And suddenly this doesn’t feel like banter anymore.

Which becomes a massive problem three seconds later when I make the mistake of relaxing.

Because relaxed me starts rambling.

And rambling me is dangerous.

“So there’s this really interesting migration theory tied to canyon systems,” I hear myself saying. “Most people assume creatures like this would stay deep forest exclusively, but historically there are repeated reports suggesting seasonal movement through high desert corridors, especially near underground caves and water systems because they’d provide natural cover and resource access without human interference⁠—”

I stop abruptly.

Daisy is staring at me. Appearing… interested. My brain completely short-circuits.

“Sorry,” I say quickly, heat rushing into my face. “I’m doing too much.”

“No,” she says. “I mean, it was kind of out of left field, but I want to hear the rest. Keep going.”

I blink, a shiver from the cold working its way down my spine. “What?”

“The migration thing.” She pulls the blanket around her toward me, offering to share it.

“Oh.” My entire body forgets how to function. Because no one ever wants the full explanation. Ever.

Usually, I catch myself halfway through and scale back before people get bored or uncomfortable.

But Daisy’s still looking at me like she means it. Which makes it feel impossible to remember words.

“There’s just…” I clear my throat awkwardly. “Patterns.”