Page 88 of Silent Shadows

Daisy stumbles once over exposed roots. I catch her by the waist this time.

Her breath catches.

Mine does too.

My hand spans warm against her side for one suspended second too long, and I wonder what it would be like to kiss her again, my fingers woven through her hair, her hands clutching my shirt. But I’d never do that because I’m not going to jeopardize everything I’ve built over the last ten years. What idiot would do that? Not me. Nope.

I let her go reluctantly. “Sorry,” I say.

“Never say sorry while manhandling me through forests.”

“It sounds worse when you phrase it like that.”

A nervous laugh escapes her. God. Even scared, she still does that. Still reaches for humor. The realization softens something in my chest.

Another knock echoes somewhere behind us. Farther now. Retreating.

I exhale for what feels like the first time in ten minutes.

“Okay,” I murmur. “Good.”

“What’s good?”

“It’s moving off.”

“You say that with way too much confidence.”

“I’m choosing optimism.”

“That’s a first.”

“Hey, I am pretty optimistic,” I counter.

“I think you’re optimistic for the crew. I don’t know if you’re always like that internally, though.”

We finally stop near a narrow rock outcropping tucked between dense trees.

The wind cuts sharper here, and Daisy rubs her arms to warm against the chill.

Without thinking, I strip off my jacket and hand it to her.

She blinks. “Miles⁠—”

“Put it on.”

“You’ll freeze.”

“I run warm.”

“That is biologically impossible. You’re built like a ripped vampire.”

I snort softly despite everything. “Daisy.”

She finally takes the jacket.

And watching her pull it on nearly kills me in an instant.

Because now she smells like me. And looks small inside it. And the primal part of my stupid, exhausted, adrenaline-fried brain decides that means something. Like she’s mine.