Page 61 of Silent Shadows

“She wants to call it Desert Daddy,” Jax says.

“It has presence,” Taylor argues.

“It has HR implications,” Maya replies.

Miles nearly chokes on his water.

I laugh so hard I have to set my fork down.

Then Jax casually drops a name. Like a rock tossed into water.

“By the way,” he says, twirling pasta around his fork, “I saw Ridgefield’s latest post. Looks like they’re heading this way.”

The air tenses. Miles goes very still. Maya’s eyes flick to him.

Taylor’s smile vanishes. “Of course they are.”

“Who’s Ridgefield?” I ask. “I feel like I’ve heard that name.”

Miles doesn’t answer.

Jax does, because Jax likes lighting matches near gasoline. “Ridgefield Anomaly Group. Rival crew. Think toxic masculinity embodied and wearing night vision goggles. The leader, Grant Ridgefield, is a Grade A dick.”

I freeze.

“Wait,” I say. “Ridgefield? Like that guy from the documentary?”

Miles finally looks at me. “You watched that?”

“I did research.”

His expression gives nothing away, but something in his jaw tightens. Interesting.

“They seemed…” I search for the polite word and fail. “Icky.”

Taylor points at me with her fork. “Correct.”

Maya exhales. “They’re opportunistic.”

“They’re idiots. They lean into what big networks want. They don’t lead with the truth. Or have any basic decency. They’re frauds,” Miles says.

The word lands sharp.

I look at him.

There he is. Another layer I haven’t seen yet. Leader. Protective. Hard and resolute in the least performative way imaginable. It’s just there.

“Are you saying they fake evidence?” I ask.

“Sometimes,” Maya says. “They do believe, but they know what gets views and deals. And funding.”

“They trespass,” Taylor adds. “Harass witnesses. Push into areas they’re told to avoid. And they’re sexist assholes.”

Jax takes a deep breath and holds it before starting in. “One time, we were both looking for The Beast of Bray Road in Wisconsin, and we'd spent four days tracking reports around Elkhorn. Nothing flashy. Just interviewing witnesses, documenting prints, setting trail cameras. You know… actual research.”

He shoots Miles a grin. “Grant rolled in on day five with three RVs, four ATVs, and a drone the size of a lawn mower. They called themselves ‘the largest cryptid operation in North America,’” he barks a laugh, making air quotes.

“They announced it,” Taylor corrected. “Over a loudspeaker.”