New Order Silent Face Novels & Stories

"Now, be quiet. That’s an exe‌cutive o‍rder." I smiled against his sh⁠irt, the steady thrum of his hea⁠rt acting as a much bette‌r g‍r‍ou‌nding force than any algor‍ithm. For th‍e fir‌st time in a long time,⁠ the silence didn't fe‌el like a gap I had t‍o fil‍l with data‍. It felt like pea‌c‍e. ~~~

From this angle, his face looked even more like a mask—a beautiful, terrifying sculpture of a mann. "I’ve spent my entire life in rooms filled with the noise of other people’s expectations, Silas," she said softly. "Your silence sounds like an upgrade." Silas felt a jolt of genuine electricity. It was the first time in a decade he had felt someone actually meet his gaze and push back with equal force. He reached out, his hand hovering inches from her shoulder, before he pulled it back and plucked the pen from her fingers. "Fine," he said, his voice tight. "We’ll play by your edits. For now."

​He stepped back, his face returning to its silent, stony mask. ​"The shower is ready," Lorenzo said, gesturing to the bathroom. "Five minutes, Bianca. Make them believe you’re the smartest person in the room, or you won't live to see ​I looked at the bloody chip on the floor, then at the man who had just saved me—and threatened me—in the same breath. ​"Fine," I said, my voice cold. "I'll speak for the Silent Don. But when I'm done, he's going to wish he’d stayed quiet."

"He did what to you on the stairs?" Noa froze. A half-eaten slice of pepperoni pizza stayed in the air, inches away from her mouth. Her eyes were wide with shock against the white clay face mask drying on her skin. Selene groaned, burying her face into a giant velvet pillow on the rug of Noa’s living room. "Keep your voice down." "I don't care about being quiet! Selene, are you losing your mind?" Noa dropped the pizza back into the box. “Cassian Vale? The man who has treated you like a total ghost for years, put his actual hand inside your dress?"

:: AUTO-CORRECT REJECTED :: REASON: PRESENCE-LED PATTERN OVERRIDES OLD SILENCE INTERPRETATION :: COMMENT: SILENCE IS NO LONGER READ AS NEUTRAL. IT IS ASSOCIATED WITH CORE USER. ABSENCE CANNOT BE MAPPED. Cassian stood. Quietly. Didn’t move toward the door. Didn’t call her name. He just watched as a room built to outlive emotion began to tremble slightly because the person it had learned to trust was no longer inside it. And Eden? She kept walking. Not to test the system.

Expression blank. Eyes cold. Behind him— more figures appeared. Different faces. Same emptiness. Same stillness. Fang Jia’s breathing stopped. Because the way they stood— the way they watched— felt horribly familiar. Yichen’s expression changed instantly. Recognition. Not of them specifically. Of what they were. One of them tilted his head slightly. Then spoke. “Subject Zero-One.” Flat. Emotionless. The title echoed through the room like a ghost from his past. “You are ordered to return.”

"Choke on the pathetic bloodline you built." He does just that—gargling, sputtering, choking around it—his one good eye bulging, tears spilling down his cheeks in thick streaks. My dick twitches at the pain on his face. Fucking beautiful. War steps closer, arms crossed, his eyes full of the hatred we both share for the sick bastard in front of us. But he remains silent. When Silas's face starts turning purple, I leisurely remove the cock and set it back on the desk.

Twelve men and women sat like stone statues, their faces pale under the fluorescent lights. "Good morning, gentlemen," Silas growled, his voice a low-frequency rumble that made the crystal water glasses on the table vibrate. He didn't take his seat; he loomed over the table like a predator deciding where to strike first. "I believe we have some international customs variances to resolve before the morning market opens."

“This statue with a head and no other features is called Silent. The sculptor made an interesting choice, leaving this piece of art blind, deaf, mute, and dead.” I felt an immediate connection to it and understood the sculptor's mind when he chose to present this supposedly meaningless work of art. I raised my board, glanced to the sides, and was subtly surprised that no other board was up. It might have been for fear of me or the lack of desire to spend money on a faceless stone, but satisfaction reeled through my veins. This was going to be the easiest bid. “Five thousand.” The anchor turned his attention toward me, surprise and angst lingering in his gaze when he took the microphone to hi