Pines: Wayward Pines: 1 (The Wayward Pines Trilogy)

by Blake Crouch

It was the strangest sort of fear. Unspecified. Like walking in the woods at night, not knowing exactly what you should be afraid of, and the fear all the more potent precisely because of its mystery.

Perfection was a surface thing. The epidermis. Cut a few layers deep, you begin to see some darker shades.

And the nature of it changed. It was still beautiful. But more remote. Indifferent.