Silent River Series Novels & Stories

Kairi, abandoning all dignity, clapped his hands in a deliberately off-beat, complex counter-rhythm. The hum in Silas's throat grew stronger. He lifted his recorder, still silent, but his fingers moved over the holes, remembering. The bubble shuddered, contracted— And with a sound like a thousand sheets of parchment being torn at once, the silencing field shattered. Noise crashed back in—the fire's crackle, our ragged breathing, Maia's joyful bark. And over it all, Silas, playing the "Cobbler's Jig" with a ferocious, defiant joy, each note a spit in the eye of the silence that had tried to claim him.

A silent, dark ache. Silas hadn’t left. She stood in front of the floor-length mirror, the silk robe slipping from her shoulders, breath held like a prayer. In the reflection behind her, a silhouette. Towering. Still. Watching. She didn’t move. She wanted to see what he would do. Silas approached without a sound. His eyes, always unreadable, flickered down her body. He didn’t touch. Just stared. Consumed. Possessed. Her heart thudded. "Do you ever think about it?" she whispered. "About me?"

The drive over to the apartment was filled with an uncomfortable silence. Unasked questions hung in the air like a thick fog. Beads of sweat prickled on the back of the drivers neck as he too was smothered by the tension in the car. The seconds felt like minutes as the road seemed to stretch longer and longer before her eyes. Letting her eyes close, Thea suppressed a sigh as she leant her head against the window, she ignored the drumming of her head against the window as they drove over the bumpy terrain. Bellamy’s words playing on repeat in her head, ‘like our souls recognise each other’.

“This is older. This is bigger.” The wind shifted again, and suddenly Sienna couldn’t hear the river anymore. She couldn’t hear the leaves. She couldn’t hear anything except the pounding of her own heart and Ryder’s ragged breathing. The silence was absolute. Too absolute. “Ryder,” she murmured, “why is it so quiet?” He didn’t get to answer. The sky split open. A crack of silver light, thin as a blade, cut from one horizon to the other. It wasn’t lightning. Lightning was loud. Violent. Alive.

And even though Harry didn’t understand it… Even though La Rivera felt like it was slipping from her grip… Even though people doubted her… Elena felt herself returning to who she truly was. Her silence was not defeat. It was a strategy.

Nissa stared at his broad back. How many times did she silently weep over this very back as he walked away from her without a second thought? He was once a figure out of reach, aloof and untouchable. But now, here he was, kneeling before her. She let out a silent, fleeting laugh. Life was full of irony. When Benjamin did not hear any movement for a while, he turned back and looked up at her. Her face was unreadably calm, like someone watching a dull movie with no emotional investment.

She longed for the chaos of conversation, the rhythm of communication, yet the emptiness remained, heavy and suffocating. It was in the quiet of one particularly lonely evening, rain pattering against the window, that Amara finally understood the truth. Silence was not neutral. Silence was a force, a pressure that demanded action. It was not the absence of words, but the presence of a choice deferred, a mirror held up to the heart, forcing her to confront what she truly wanted.

Then silence, but not the empty kind. Someone was awake over there. Alert. Listening. Sierra settled her back against the wall, pulled her knees to her chest, and stared at the reinforced concrete separating her from whatever waited on the other side. Her wolf pushed against her ribs, desperate to reach it. "I can hear you breathing," Sierra said, because silence had never helped her and waiting for the worst to happen was somehow more exhausting than the worst itself. "Are you going to say something, or are we doing the silent treatment?"

"Listeners, we came here to find a voice, but I think we found a mirror. Tobi isn't silent because he has nothing to say. He’s silent because he’s waiting for us to stop shouting long enough to hear the world breathing." The neighborhood stayed hushed. The "radio man" hadn't conquered the "Silent Artist." Instead, the silence had expanded to include everyone in the courtyard. Tobi felt the blockage in his throat ease. He hadn't used the words they wanted, but he had used the truth they needed. He looked at Grandpa, who nodded once a slow, majestic movement. The knife had cut through; the bone was finally visible.

His eyes weren't blue like Roman's; they were a dark, molten amber that seemed to track the very rhythm of my failing heart. "You're late, Elara," Silas said, his voice a low vibration that didn't spark the "Voice" in my head. He wasn't part of my pack. To him, I was psychically silent. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever experienced. "I had to wait for the house to go quiet," I rasped, clutching the folder of bridge schematics to my chest. "The Crescent Pack doesn't like it when their 'property' wanders." Silas stepped closer, into the sliver of moonlight. He didn't growl. He didn't loom. He just watched the way my chest laboured for air. "You're dying."