Beneath the Silver Moon
There is a deceptive quality about small towns.
They market themselves with glossy postcards and romanticized notions of quaintness, suggesting nothing but cozy streets, sun-dappled squares, and genuinely friendly, overly helpful neighbors. But you soon learn the truth.
Silver Ridge has a distinct flavor.
It's not the sugary-sweetness of a tourist destination; it's more akin to a square of exceptionally dark chocolate, the expensive, high-quality kind that carries an underlying, deep current of bitterness, the taste that sneaks up on the back of your throat long after the initial bite. And right now, in the late afternoon sun filtering across the pavement, that complex, unsettling flavor sme
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