Page 67 of Silent Shadows

“Absolutely not.”

Taylor groans. “Girl… you can’t tell me you lack intuition. I heard that interview with Megan Cox. You were able to get her to open up in a way she never had before.”

From the window of the Mystery Machine, I can see Daisy's mouth pop open. She’s speechless.

“She’s from LA,” I call out from the cracked window, trying to save her. “Her instincts are calibrated for parking structures.”

Daisy flips me off without looking up. Progress.

I know she’s tough, but I keep expecting her to quit. Sure, life out here can be hard, but more than that, chasing Bigfoot is a whole lot more tedious than people assume. It’s just not that interesting.

Being in the middle of nowhere, 500 miles away from basic civilization markers like chain restaurants and same-day shipping, wears on people in ways they don’t understand till they’re in it. Especially in the high desert like we are right now. Dry heat during the day. Bitter cold at night. Dust in everything. Constant movement. Constant uncertainty.

And Daisy… Daisy is soft in certain ways. Not emotionally. God, no. But physically. Her hands blister when she helps unload gear. The back of her neck is always sunburned because she refuses to wear a hat correctly. She complains every time we hike uphill.

Instead of annoying me, her softness and vulnerabilities are things I seem to have started subconsciously tracking.

Making sure she drinks enough water. Slowing the pace over rough terrain without calling attention to it. Positioning myself downhill from her during climbs because she still slips here and there even though she’s improving.

Tuesday afternoon, it gets bad enough that Maya notices. We’re crossing a rocky wash toward a scouting point when Daisy’s boot catches wrong on loose stone. Her balance tips sideways sharply, and I catch her arm before she goes all the way down. Instinct. Fast enough that I don’t think first.

Her body bumps against mine as she steadies herself, and the feel of her against me sends shivers up my spine.

“I’m fine,” she says through gritted teeth.

“You almost face-planted into sandstone.”

“I got it.”

I let go of Daisy’s arm once she’s stable again, but my hand lingers for half a second too long.

Her eyes flick away. Then back to mine. Something shifts in the air between us again.

Maya appears beside me two minutes later while, ten paces behind, Daisy argues with Taylor about whether “desert ankles” are a real thing.

“You’re hovering.”

I keep my eyes forward. “I’m not hovering.”

“I told you not to start something here.”

“That feels dramatic.”

“Miles.”

I exhale sharply. “I’m not going to. I just… like her.”

“I told you. We need this to work. If this podcast takes off, we’ll get the exposure we need to raise funds to keep this going. Without it, we’re running out of options, Miles.”

“I know, I know. Don’t worry about it.” I glance back despite myself.

Daisy is laughing at something Taylor said, cheeks flushed from heat and exertion, hair escaping her braid.

Maya cuts through my thoughts. “She needs to start doing some one-on-one interviews, and I need you to be okay with that.”

“I am.”

It wasn’t a lie—I wanted more time with Daisy. It felt like she had been working to earn a place here. Not through performance, but through persistence. And it’s sexy as hell.