Chapter 3 #4
I’m lost in the landscape, watching out the window until we pull into a tiny RV park next to a diner and a truck-stop gas station.
Our spot is at the edge of the campground, one of the biggest this place has to offer.
Clusters of pine trees separate us from the neighboring sites.
Out the back, there’s access to a trail system, shaded by taller pinyon pines.
You can see a broad view of distant ridges stretching toward the horizon beyond the tree line.
From the front of the site, you can see the diner’s neon sign flickering on for the evening.
The four of them park and hook up the RV with minimal exchange of words, each clear on their role.
I watch, half in awe and half in disbelief at the efficiency of it all.
Once they’re back inside and all the shoes are kicked off, they start working at their own little stations.
“So,” I say brightly, slipping back into work mode before the moment can become a thing, and pulling out my recorder. “Where can I set up?”
Miles changes in an instant. His shoulders straighten. His attention sharpens.
“Oh,” he says. “Right. Recording.”
I pause, unsure of how not to sound condescending. “Yes. That’s generally how podcasts work.”
“Right. Obviously.” He nods too many times. “Cool. Great. Love recording.”
Taylor bites her lip to stop smiling.
Miles points at me with urgency. “Okay, before we start, we should probably establish boundaries.”
There it is. I knew it was coming. It happens with anyone I’m talking to, and Maya had warned me that Miles might get a little nervous about my role here.
I brace myself, but instead of awkward hostility or controlling demands, Miles crouches beside one of the benches and rummages for something.
I stare.
He holds a four-inch binder, stuffed to the gills.
It has dividers. And tabs. Color-coded tabs.
“What,” I say slowly, “is that?”
“This?” He glances down, opening to the first page. It is laminated. Of course it is. “Oh, this is just the field media consent and operational guidelines packet.”
Silence.
Jax loses it first, laughing so hard he has to lean against the wall.
Taylor actually wheezes.
Maya pinches the bridge of her nose like she’s lived through this exact moment before. “I’m so sorry, Daisy. I did warn you.”
Miles looks between all of us, defensive. “What? It’s organized.”
“You laminated it,” Taylor says.
“We’re mostly off-grid,” he argues. “Regular paper degrades.”
“That’s a good point,” I admit.
His head snaps toward me like he wasn’t expecting support.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome?”
He opens the binder with intense seriousness.
“Okay,” he says. “So. A few things. First, no recording of specific GPS coordinates.”
“Makes sense.”
“Second, no filming active investigation screens without approval because some data requires contextual interpretation.”
“…okay.”
“Third, if we encounter potential evidence in the field, operational priority overrides content capture.”
“That one sounds dramatic,” I note.
“It’s safety-based,” he snaps. “People get distracted during high-adrenaline situations and—statistically speaking—that increases accident probability by about thirty-eight percent.”
“You know the percentage?” My eyes widened in scrutinous surprise.
“I estimated the percentage based on four studies I've come across.”
“That feels worse.” I shook my head.
Taylor snorts.
Miles keeps going.
“Fourth, no posting real-time location updates.”
“Of course…”
“Fifth—”
“There’s a fifth? How many rules are there?” I interrupt.
“There are twelve,” he says.
I stare at him.
He stares back earnestly.
“You made twelve rules.”
“They’re guidelines.”
“And they’re laminated.”
“We discussed this already.”
Jax is openly recording this interaction on his phone now.
“Dude,” he says through laughter, “it’s like you made her a cryptid syllabus.”
“It’s all those years being a TA showing,” Miles says.
“I’m sure your professors love what you’ve done with all your potential,” Jax quips. Miles laughs, elbowing him as they share a moment.
I cross my arms, watching Miles flip pages with deep concentration. I feel lost. Because I came here expecting to deal with arrogance. Territorial behavior. A man obsessed with proving himself right.
Instead, I got… this. A weirdly charming, hyper-prepared forest nerd who, on one hand, is trying so hard to make me feel comfortable, and on the other is so technical and focused he borders on unhinged.
And the most surprising part? He doesn’t seem at all intimidated by me.
Most people either want something from me or want to impress me. Usually both.
Miles just… exists.
Fully. Comfortably. Authentically.
Like my presence changes absolutely nothing about how he operates.
It’s unsettling.
“Any questions before we jump in?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.
I blink. “About your wilderness constitution?”
“It’s not a constitution.”
“It’s tabbed.”
“You keep bringing up organization like it’s a flaw.”
“It’s overkill, right? I feel like I’ll get along fine without this.”
“That sounds like a you problem,” he says with a grin.
I narrow my eyes.
His smile broadens.
Friendly. Oblivious. Unaffected.
Oh, I’m going to lose my mind out here.
I make a show of pulling out my recorder again and clicking it on.
“Field note,” I say into the mic, looking Miles dead in the eyes. “The alleged leader of the Strange Terrain Division appears to be a repressed hall monitor with access to industrial lamination equipment.”
Taylor cackles.
Jax points at me. “Oh, she’s awesome.”
Miles heaves a sigh. “Okay, first of all, I’m not repressed.”
“You color-coded your boundaries.”
“Color coding increases efficiency.”
I lower the recorder. “You are so weird.”
“Again,” he says in a chipper tone, “sounds like a you problem.”
He’s right. It is going to be a problem.