Page 60 of Silent Shadows

“You would last ten minutes in an actual survival scenario.”

“I lasted in LA dating culture for ten years.”

He pauses. Then nods once. “Different kind of wilderness, but okay.”

Jax laughs. “She got you there.”

Miles points the wooden spoon at him. “Don’t encourage her.”

This level of domesticity between friends was weird at first. But I’m warming up to it.

There’s no putting on a show here. No one is trying to impress anyone. No one is adjusting their tone for an audience. Even with me standing there, even with the podcast hanging over them, they’re just themselves.

Taylor argues about garlic bread distribution.

Jax steals cheese.

Maya pretends not to notice.

Miles cooks like feeding them is part of leading them.

Miles’s ease and authenticity hit me harder than I expected. I spend my days inside rooms where everyone is selling some version of themselves. Celebrities try to seem relatable, or influencers try to seem effortless. Men try to seem deeper than they are, or women try to seem less angry than they have every right to be.

Everybody is performing. Even me. Especially me. But Miles isn’t. Not in the way I’m used to. And I hate that I want to tell him that.

He’s absurdly self-aware and somehow not self-conscious. He knows he’s weird, knows people laugh, and he keeps going anyway. He believes what he believes, cooks dinner, labels his spice containers, sets boundaries with laminated documents, and doesn’t shrink when I poke at him.

He doesn’t posture.

He doesn’t try to be cool.

He doesn’t seem scared of being seen.

And that… God, that is attractive in a way I did not budget for emotionally.

“Daisy,” Maya says.

I blink. “What?”

“You want to sit before Taylor claims your spot?”

I nod, following her outside. Dinner is loud. Chaotic. Warm.

“This is insane,” I say after one bite. The chicken parm is, of course, excellent.

Miles looks up. “Bad insane or good insane?”

“Unbelievably insane?”

His smile flickers. “That sounds positive.”

“It is. Unfortunately.”

He laughs under his breath and ducks his head like he’s trying not to enjoy the compliment too much.

I hate how much I notice. And how much I want to elbow him. I keep wanting to touch him. Nothing dramatic. Just… sit next to him. Lean on him. Steal his hoodie. Bother him.

For a while, the conversation stays easy. They talk about routes and supplies and whether Taylor should be allowed to name the off-road rig because apparently she has been trying for months.