If You Come Softly Audiobook Novels & Stories

67 Celene I jolt awake, to the sound of buzzing in my ears. Without thinking I fly out of the bed, which seemed too soft to be mine, Instead of the hardwood I am used to I fall head first into soft—too soft— rug, the softest and comfiest I have ever felt. If I wasn't so confused I might have taken a few more minutes to reveal its softness. The buzzing continued, as a blistering headache held me down in a chokehold, I squinted my eyes in the hope of catching a glimpse of my location.

The sound came again but now it was soft,measured and moving then right beside us a voice not from tje speakers not from the walls it was real and close breathing from a distance It said”you shouldn't have come here. Sofia cried out, I turned ,too fast too instinctive and for the first time I saw it thought it wasn't clear not fully but it was enough to see a shape,a person standing where there's had been nothing few seconds ago.My scream went through the room and the lights snapped right back on almost blinding us,it was harsh and revealing nothing,just empty space and bare floor there was no one there I gapsed backing into tomás

I went to him very slowly, my steps quiet on the floor, like a cat making its way with soft padding on some moonlit night. "What's wrong?" I softly intoned, my voice as warm and gentle as the soft lapping of waves against the shore. I walked to where he sat, my heart full of a sense of concern and compassion, like the soft warmth of a summer sun through the clouds.

“We improvise it live.” Pauly handed her a slim, battered paperback—Mockingbird, cover worn, pages gutted to hold a wafer-thin transceiver and a micro-SD slot. “Your new copy. Same weight as the real one. Press the title twice if you’re burned; it wipes your last three hours and plays an audiobook. Press the author twice and it pings us with location.” She slid the book into her tote without looking. “And if I press the spine?” “It complains about being objectified,” Pauly said.

Lucky for me, I didn't have to execute the perfectly detailed act in my mind as the door opened and Robbie stepped out. He smiled as he saw me and I felt heat rise up to my cheeks as he looked at me appreciatively. "Eve, I didn't know you'd be able to come." Robbie smiled. "Oh Robbie, I wouldn't miss it for the world," I walked closer to him and we exchanged air kisses. "Come in," Robbie said and I walked in, flinging my hair backward. There were sculptures elegantly displayed in the hall and Robbie smiled at all of them, looking as if they were his babies.

"They simply decide." "And the consequences arrive quietly." Jenny looked down at the transfer papers again. "They never even raised their voices..." Mr. Graves smiled sadly. "The strongest people rarely have to." Silence filled the office. Jenny hugged herself tightly; she suddenly remembered something. Aiden's smile. Calm. Polite. Gentle. Then those eyes. Cold. Unmoving. Watching her. She felt a chill crawl down her spine. "...Dad." "Hm?" "What..." She swallowed. "...what kind of people are they?"

Her soft voice was sweet, a sweetness that seemed to reach her very bones. ***

Clara excused herself to help someone in the back, and I took a sip of lukewarm tea, rubbing my wrist where the pen had left a small red mark. The bell rang again. I didn’t look up at first I was flipping through a fresh stack of books but something in the air changed. It was the smallest thing, like the way silence rearranges itself when someone familiar enters a room. Then I heard his voice. Soft. Polite. Still that steady calm that could turn a sentence into a memory. “Do you still have the author copies of Too Deep to Erase?” I froze. For a second, my hand hovered midair. Then, slowly, I looked up.

I nod when required, offer soft words that sound like we. “Good girl,” he murmurs. First time he’s said it since I came back. The phrase lands on my skin like frost. I smile like glass. The phone rings. He steps toward the terrace, his voice dropping into that cold register reserved for numbers, routes, deals. I stand, drift toward the shelves like I’m admiring my old arrangement of books by color. My fingers skim leather spines. Dante. Shakespeare. Financial handbooks dressed up as wisdom. Then—something wrong. A corner frayed where it shouldn’t be. A scuff on the baseboard near the hearth. My pulse ticks up.

the man says softly. He pulls her back further. Into the shadows. Step by step. And I don’t move. Because she told me not to. Because she chose this. Because I said I wouldn’t decide for her. But as she disappears into the darkness— her fingers slip from mine. Slowly. Reluctantly. Gone. And the last thing I hear— before the silence swallows everything— is her voice. Soft. Breaking. “I’m sorry.” Then— nothing. And for the second time—