Page 195 of Silent Shadows

A laugh slips out of me.

Miles shifts. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Daisy.”

I lift my head just enough to see him. “I was thinking about how unbelievably off-brand all this is for me.”

His brows knit. “Sleeping in an RV?”

“Sleeping in an RV. Hiking voluntarily. Caring about trail ethics. Knowing the difference between thermal drift and actual movement.”

His mouth curves.

“Also,” I add, “having strong opinions about battery storage.”

“That one is concerning.”

“I still think my system is better than yours. No offense.”

He laughs as he brushes a strand of hair away from my face, and the movement is so gentle it makes my ribs ache.

“Did you miss LA?” he asks.

“My apartment?”

“Your life.”

His voice stays careful. I know what he’s really asking. Do you wish you hadn’t come back? Do you wish you’d stayed clean and safe and far away? Do you regret this?

I think of my king-sized bed, enormous and soft and lonely. The latte with foam art that tasted like a waste of $10.

I think of Marissa cross-legged on my comforter, telling me I sounded like myself for once. The note on my phone where we started building something new.

I think of the imprint that will belong to stories like this one. Stories about belief. Mystery. Obsession. Wonder. People reaching for things no one else understands.

I think about the version of me who sat in that hotel room with seventeen tabs open and finally understood that withholding part of the story could be an essential component of good storytelling.

Then I look at Miles. At this ridiculous bunk. At the strip of sunlight creeping across the wall.

“No,” I say. “I miss Marissa. And good water pressure. And delivery sushi. But I don’t miss feeling like I had to watch myself from the outside all the time.”

He nods once, his face stoic yet soft, like he knows exactly how much that confession cost. I swallow before I can bury it under a joke.

“I like myself here.”

His hand stills against my back, and I keep going.

“I like the girl who lives out of a duffel bag and forgets mascara exists. The one who gets irrationally angry when people ignore FAA drone regulations. The one who doesn't mind smelling vaguely like campfire for three days straight.”

He smiles. “I like her too. But… just so you know, I like all of you. The girl who can walk into a room full of executives and somehow leave with exactly what she came for. The one who asks questions nobody else thinks to ask. The one who built something out of nothing because she refused to let people tell her to stay quiet.”

Miles tips my chin up until I'm looking at him and my breath catches.

“I don't want part of you, Daisy.” His thumb brushes my jaw. “I want all of you.”

I press my forehead to his chest and let the feeling of being chosen move through me. The RV shakes violently as someone slams the Machine’s door shut. Taylor’s voice follows.