The truth that was simmering in the shadows caused the air in Race Street Canyon to freeze, not the cold. Two years are more than just time; they are a blanket of silence that lasts forever.
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I. The Meeting Under the Earth’s Surface
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A quivering sword in the darkness, the LED beam cut through the grotto. Before he could see the hit, Ben Carter felt it.
Stone wasn’t it. The form, huddled against the damp rock, was human.
Quiet. Deathly quiet, but without the tranquility that comes with dying.
The figure was still, very slender, with grayish, nearly translucent skin.
A face that resembled a wax mask was concealed by long, matted hair. They believed they had discovered a mummy, even the seasoned speleologists.
Ben, screw it. “Look at that,” someone murmured.
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