Chapter 10
The Limestone Massacre
The old limestone quarry was a jagged, open wound in the earth, bleached bone-white under the indifferent gaze of a hunter’s moon. The air here was different than in the bunker—it was thinner, sharper, and heavy with the scent of wet stone and the metallic tang of impending death. It was the kind of silence that didn't just exist; it waited. It waited for the first drop of blood to hit the white dust and mar the pristine, ghostly landscape.
Silas killed the engine a mile away. The sudden absence of the truck's hum was jarring, replaced only by the nocturnal whispers of the Tennessee woods. There were no grand speeches, no reassurances or promises of safety. In the world Silas Thorne inhabited, safety was a lie told to the weak. There was only the rhy
