Page 55 of Silent Shadows

I had the shape of it in my head before I even arrived. Daisy Bennett embeds with a Bigfoot hunting crew. Culture clash. Belief as identity. Male loneliness disguised as mythology. A group of charming weirdos chasing something impossible because ordinary life failed them somehow.

I could already hear the intro.

“What makes a grown adult leave behind cell service, indoor plumbing, and emotionally stable decision-making to chase Bigfoot through the woods? Is it grief? Delusion? A spiritual crisis dressed up in hiking boots? Or maybe it’s the same thing that drives all of us–- our need to believe there’s something bigger out there waiting for us to find it. Whether that means hunting for cryptids, or hunting for your celebrity crush on Raya.”

Good hook. Clean angle. Smart. Very me. Focused on the people and the motives, not the actual discovery. There was never going to be any discovery, because none of this was supposed to be real.

But now the recording is ruining it. My perfect hook is dead.

Because that sound isn’t character study.

That sound isn’t “culture.”

That sound is something I cannot explain or provide witty commentary on, which means I can’t give my audience or advertisers what they want.

I click play again.

The canyon. Our footsteps. My voice, shakier than usual, saying, “Okay, nope. Absolutely not.”

Miles, barely audible: “Quiet.”

Then the sound.

I pause it so hard my finger hurts.

Across the diner, the bell over the door jingles and I look up.

Miles walks in with his phone pressed to his ear.

Of course he does.

Because the universe seems to have decided I need a live stress test.

He doesn’t see me at first. He’s in a dark green T-shirt, jeans, hair still damp like he just showered, which feels rude because I was doing very well thinking of him as a field-trip cryptid nerd and not as a wet, naked man in a shower. I’m sure he smells good, too.

He stops near the entrance, listening to whoever is on the other end of the line, his posture tensing.

“No,” he says quietly, turning toward the window. “I’m not dismissing that. I’m saying it’s not enough to establish a pattern.”

I tilt my head before I can stop myself. Podcast instincts. Some call it eavesdropping; I call it research.

He listens again, jaw tightening.

“No, Owen, I get it. I do. But I’m not going to throw the team at a lead from a source I don’t trust.”

Owen. The mysterious government brother.

Interesting.

Miles’s eyes flick toward my booth, and I immediately look down at my laptop like I wasn’t spying on him from behind a mug of lukewarm coffee.

Too late. He sees me.

His face changes instantly—it’s not dramatic, but enough that I notice. His tension doesn’t disappear. It tucks itself away. Smooths out the most detectable edges.

He lifts two fingers in a small wave.

I lift my coffee in response like a socially awkward beverage goblin.