Page 1 of Silent Grave

PROLOGUE

Tyler Matthews sprawled in the bed of his pickup truck, staring up at the winter stars scattered like salt across the Utah sky. His breath fogged in front of him as he sipped cheap beer, trying to ignore the cold metal pressing against his back through the old blanket he'd thrown down.

The stars looked different here than they did in Seattle. Clearer. Colder. Not to mention how often they were covered by clouds in Seattle.

When he'd first left for college, he couldn't wait to escape this small town. Now, three semesters later, he found himself missing these stars. Missing a lot of things, if he was being honest with himself.

His phone buzzed. Another text from his mom:

Everything ok? Haven't heard from you all day.

Tyler smiled and typed back: All good. Just catching up with some old friends.

It wasn't exactly a lie. Kyle and Marcus were supposed to meet him here, same as they used to back in high school. Of course, back then, they'd been sneaking out, drinking warm beer stolen from their parents' garages. Now, the drinking didn't require any sneaking around, but somehow, it felt important to keep up the tradition.

If they ever showed up, that is.

He took another sip of beer, grimacing at the taste. The same cheap brand they'd always drunk, chosen more for nostalgia than quality. His roommate in Seattle would've mocked him for it—Travis with his craft IPAs and artisanal whiskeys. But Travis didn't understand what it meant to preserve something, even if that something was just drinking bad beer in the bed of a pickup truck under winter stars.

Sometimes, Tyler felt guilty about choosing a college so far away, leaving Mom alone in their too-big house. Especially since Dad had already left them.

But she'd insisted. "Don't you dare stay here because of me," she'd said, her voice fierce even as her hands trembled. "You're meant for bigger things than this town."

Maybe that was true. But lying here under these stars, Tyler wondered if "bigger things" were really what he wanted. In Seattle, everything moved so fast. Everyone was chasing something—funding, publications, prestigious internships. Here, time seemed to flow differently. The mountains watched over everything with ancient patience, unchanging even as the town below them slowly transformed.

Another text lit up his phone. Kyle this time: Running late. Marcus is being a dick about his car. Give us 30?

Tyler texted back a thumbs-up emoji and settled deeper into his blanket. The beer was making him philosophical, he decided. Probably best to slow down if he was already getting maudlin about mountains and time.

He heard an engine in the distance and sat up, but it was just someone on the main road below. This turnoff had always been their spot—secluded enough that local cops didn't bother checking it, close enough to town that they could make a quick escape if needed. The abandoned mine entrance gaped behind him like a mouth in the hillside, chain-link fence long since torn away by teenagers and scrappers.

Signs still warned of the dangers: KEEP OUT. UNSAFE CONDITIONS. NO TRESPASSING. They'd always joked about exploring it, but none of them had ever worked up the courage. There were too many stories about people getting lost down there, about unstable tunnels and sudden drops.

His mom used to tell him that his grandfather had worked these mines back before they closed. "He knew every tunnel like the back of his hand," she'd say proudly. "Could find his way out blindfolded." Tyler wished he'd had the chance to meet him, to ask what it was like working in the darkness day after day. But black lung had taken him before Tyler was born, like it had taken so many others.

The wind picked up, carrying the bite of snow. Tyler pulled his jacket tighter, debating whether to text Kyle and call it off. They could meet at the Copper Kettle instead, that new coffee shop downtown that was trying so hard to be Seattle it hurt. At least it would be warm.

That's when he heard it. A sound from the mine entrance—soft, almost lost in the wind. A whimper, maybe. Or a cry for help.

Tyler froze, beer halfway to his lips. The sound came again, clearer this time. Definitely a voice. Definitely human.

"Hello?" he called out, heart suddenly pounding. "Someone there?"

Only the wind answered, but he was sure he'd heard something. He fumbled for his phone's flashlight, sweeping the beam across the mine entrance. The light caught only darkness and scrub brush moving in the wind.

Common sense told him to stay put. Call the police maybe, let them check it out. But what if someone was hurt down there? What if they'd fallen, or gotten lost? He thought of his grandfather, who'd known these tunnels by heart. Would he have hesitated?

"This is stupid," Tyler muttered, but he was already climbing out of the truck bed. The beer had given him just enough courage to be reckless. Besides, he'd only go a few feet in. Just enough to make sure no one needed help.

He took another pull from his beer for courage, then set it carefully on the truck's tailgate. The beam of his phone light seemed weak against the absolute darkness of the mine entrance. He took a step forward, then another.

"Hello?" he called again. "Anyone in there? Do you need help?"

The sound came once more, farther in this time. Tyler hesitated at the threshold, every childhood warning screaming in his head. But someone could be hurt. Someone could be dying. He couldn't just walk away.

He stepped into the darkness, phone held high. The temperature dropped immediately, as if the mine was breathing cold air onto him. His light caught glimpses of support beams, rails set into the ground, rough-hewn walls that disappeared into shadow.

Behind him, footsteps crunched on gravel.

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