Page 101 of Silent Shadows

“But?” I glance over at her.

“But I also know grief makes people vulnerable to making meaning,” I admit. “And this point?” I laugh once under my breath. “I don’t know where the line is anymore.”

The confession hangs between us.

“Am I someone who sees patterns other people miss?” I say finally. “Or am I someone who needs there to be something out there because I built my entire identity around it?”

Saying it out loud feels awful. Like peeling skin back.

But Daisy doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t reassure me either.

Which weirdly helps more.

“I think it can be both,” she says after a second.

I glance over.

“You don’t have to be delusional to really care about something,” she says. “And honestly, even if Bigfoot never walks out of the woods waving ‘hello,’ the work you guys do is still real.”

I blink.

“The missing persons stuff. The environmental documentation. The way you built this team.” She shrugs. “That matters, whether the end result of this case is a seven-foot woodland man or not.”

That’s the thing I’ve been terrified nobody would understand. I know Maya, Taylor, and Jax get it, but hearing it from someone with an outside perspective is more validating than I want to admit.

This was never just about proving something.

It’s about keeping something alive. My family. The crew. Hope. All the wonder people lose when they grow up.

Daisy bumps her shoulder against mine as we walk. “You’re not crazy, Miles.”

The words land somewhere I didn't realize was still bruised.

I don't know what to do with them.

I've spent so many years bracing for the laugh that comes after telling people what I do, waiting for the polite smile that says, “There he goes again.” I've gotten good at answering the questions before they're asked. At explaining myself before anyone can decide I'm worth dismissing.

Somewhere along the way, anticipating rejection became muscle memory.

And now… this woman doesn't ask me to prove anything. She doesn't roll her eyes or tell me to be realistic.

She says it like it’s obvious. Like the thought that I might be crazy never crossed her mind. The strangest part is how badly I needed to hear it.

Before I can stop myself, before my brain can overanalyze or panic, I look at her.

Really look at her.

At the woman who came out here expecting viral content, only to sit through my conspiracy theories and existential spirals and stay anyway.

“You know,” I say, “I don’t think you are either. For what it’s worth. I couldn’t do the same thing for ten years without needing something different. It’s why we’re always switching up cases.”

“Makes sense,” she says, nodding. “I do feel a little crazy though.”

I smile faintly. “Because of us?”

She laughs. “Because of me.”

That catches me off guard enough that I slow our pace.