Quiet Place Book Novels & Stories

Merilla’s voice called out in our link as she followed behind me. “ I need time to process things. Please Merilla, just give me some time alone.” Merilla excepted my wishes and stopped following me. Finally, I found an empty room, a small space with large windows that let in the cool breeze. I pushed the windows open, breathing in the fresh air, trying to calm the storm inside me. Leaning against the wall, I slid down to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest.

Again and again, hope sparked and fizzled, wearing him down until he was almost numb. By the third morning, a woman appeared at the edge of the landfill.

*****************************POV: Rowe************************ --- There were two kinds of quiet in the world. The first kind was peace—when birds sang, the air breathed easy, and the sun rose without hesitation. The wind howling like the only thing we needed at the moment. And the second? The second kind of peace was war. The kind that settled over everything right before the shot. The air stilled. The insects stopped. Even your heartbeat dared not make noise, as if sound alone might be the trigger.

I have never trusted quiet. Not the gentle kind you get after rain, when the world smells rinsed clean and birds reclaim their arrogance. I mean the kind of quiet that arrives after violence, when people pretend the silence belongs to them and not to whatever is simply waiting its turn. The village had that second kind.

Since the letters had started arriving from wolves waking up alone in a changed world without language for what had changed. Since Anya had asked if she could stay. I held that desire honestly and completely and without strategy. And I opened the door. It was quiet. That was the first thing. Not dramatic. Not the overwhelming surge of the Remembering or the sharp clarity of the true name or the warm flood of the Moon Goddess’s gratitude. Just quiet. And then, in the quiet, something that arrived the way warmth arrives in a room when the fire is lit. Not noticed at the exact moment of beginning. Noticed when it was already present, already changing the quality of the space, already real.

The scent of lilies filled the room—clean, calming, ironic. She moved to the living room, curling up on the sofa with a book she had opened days ago but never read past the first page. Her eyes scanned the words without absorbing them. Love is not always loud. Sometimes it is the quiet you choose to live with. She closed the book abruptly. “Stop,” she whispered to herself. She stood and walked toward the balcony. Night had fallen over City A, the skyline glowing like a distant dream. Her hand rested on the cold railing.

I let myself sit inside that word—quiet—for a long minute. Quiet was a country I had not been able to find on any map for as long as I had been wearing my sister's name. Quiet was the inside of a basement only as long as it took someone to come back to it. Quiet was a roadside in Connecticut between two sets of headlights. I had not slept inside a quiet in over a year. He felt the shift in me. His hand on my back stilled, then resumed its slow, even circle. "Breathe," he said, low. "There is nothing to listen for. Not anymore."

When Observation Becomes Exposure POV: Matteo I don’t like quiet anymore. Not the normal kind. Not the peaceful kind. Not even the “everything is finally okay” kind. Because I’ve learned something the hard way. Quiet doesn’t mean safe. It just means nothing has happened yet. And right now— Nothing is happening. Which somehow feels worse than everything that just did. The projection shows empty space again. No patterns, no distortions, no weird impossible geometry trying to break my brain.

It was maybe a tad boring compared to my old life, but deep down, I knew that was exactly what I had been longing for. A fresh start, far from the fear and tension of my past. However, that peace was shattered on a sunny, serene afternoon. That day, just like any other, I was in the shop, arranging flowers. A sudden chill cast a shadow over me, and a voice I knew all too well whispered in my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. "Eleanor..." I snapped my head up, and the sight of Roman's face sent me spiraling into terror. My heart clenched as if caught in a vice, my breath coming in short gasps. Memories I had buried, the deepest and darkest kind, clawed their way to the surface.

Clutching her phone, she felt a wave of numbness wash over her. Behind her, the door chimed, and footsteps grew louder as they neared. Suddenly, her phone was plucked from her grasp by the man behind her and tossed aside with an indifferent flick of his wrist. He gripped her wrist tightly, pinning her against the window. She looked down, his warm breath on her ear sending shivers down her spine. "Been waiting long, my dear?" he murmured.