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Chapter 23: Silas
The factory loomed in the distance like a forgotten monument to decay. Rows of broken windows lined its top floor, jagged like teeth in a silent snarl. A thick fog clung to the ground, curling around Dante’s boots as he and Lira approached from the southern ridge under cover of night.
Dante crouched behind a rusted vehicle frame, his eyes sweeping the perimeter. He adjusted the earpiece Gabriel had designed, listening to the low buzz of encrypted channels. No movement. No guards. Too clean.
“It's quiet,” he murmured.
“Too quiet,” Lira agreed, crouched beside him. “They’re expecting us.”
“They know we’re coming,” Dante said grimly. “Which means Silas is waiting.”
They moved in silence, ghosting across the perimeter. Lira moved with practiced precision—too fluid
