Silo Audiobook Novels & Stories

"You went quiet. Are you having doubts? I get it. You love Mr. Preston so much—" Shiloh cut him off. "I don't regret it. I never will. I stopped loving him a long time ago." The words had barely left her mouth when the door swung open. Manuel stood there, his cold stare dark and furious. "Stopped loving me?" he said. "Shiloh, say that again."

The great hall erupted into chaos once again. "The Alpha says he can't remember?" "Isn't that as good as a confession? He can't even form a defense!" "But he is universally known as the father who loved Echo more than life itself..." The cacophony crashed over him like a tidal wave, yet Silas seemed entirely deaf to it. He knelt on the floor, pressing his hands fiercely against his temples. The veins on his forehead bulged, as if he were trying to physically rip that blank void out of his skull.

I'll be back. I know. You better be. I will. She set the phone down. The room was quiet. The street below was quiet. She picked up the book. Clara's book. The one she didn't understand. Opened it. Read the first page. The words still blurred. She kept reading.

"Silas is entirely pushed to the edge of insanity after the boutique humiliation. When I called Lydia a fraud and threatened to expose her fake pregnancy, Silas realized their time had completely run out. He’s cornered. And a cornered rat will do anything to survive." "It’s worse than just survival, Elara," Sarah interrupted, her voice dropping into a dark, solemn register. "I managed to intercept and decrypt the audio file of the secure call Silas made to Victor’s burner phone five minutes ago. I’m playing it now. Listen." A burst of static filled the penthouse, followed by Silas’s unmistakable, guttural growl, distorted but perfectly audible:

The side fell into silver dust. The dust remained in the air for a moment. And formed a map. No map. A road description. Lines of light. Symbols. Signs. And in the end there was a name. The Silent Archive ‘No’ The boy said that right away. Too fast. Mara looked at him. “You know it.” He kept silent. “You know it.” repeated it. He slowly nodded. “Everyone in Nerevin knows it.” “Then explain it.” The boy looked at the tower.

I just hold it like a prop, something to grip while I dismantle the careful fiction of the past eighteen months and show him the mess underneath. Through all of it, Silas doesn't move. Doesn't shift his weight or cross his arms or do any of those restless things people do when they're processing something massive. He just stands there, shoulder against the doorframe, mug in hand, those pale gray-blue eyes steady on mine. Listening the way he does everything—completely. When I finish, the hallway's so quiet I can hear the rain ticking against the window at the end of the corridor.

She didn’t know then that some silences weren’t empty. They were waiting. Waiting for the moment they could break everything open.

They were led inside, footsteps echoing softly against polished floors, through hallways that felt lived-in rather than ornamental, until Silas stopped in front of a door near the back of the house. His study. Inside, the room was quiet and intentional. Shelves lined with books that looked read rather than displayed. A desk positioned not for show, but for work. Tall windows that faced the grounds, letting in the faint glow of outdoor lights. Silas stepped inside and remained standing. Marcus gestured toward the chairs. “Please.” Chloe and Riley sat. Silas turned to Chloe first. “You grew up watching people work themselves into the ground,” he said, as if continuing a thought she’d started e

"Honey, your life is in danger and you are still thinking about my brother. Forget about them. In ten hours, we will be eating overpriced scones and complaining about the British accent. Just hold on." In the front seat, Silas was a wall of stone. He hadn't moved an inch, his eyes darting from the side mirrors to the dark, empty stretch of Broadway ahead. Peter, our driver who usually had plenty to say was dead silent. His knuckles were so white they looked like bone against the steering wheel. "Silas," I said, my voice wavering. "Why is it so quiet? Where is the traffic?" "Stay down, Michelle," Silas said. It wasn't a suggestion. It was a command. Somehow funny Silas had lost his own spark.

The water was clear enough for me to see every rock that covered the bottom of it, every color could be seen. "Subhanallah" I whispered as I heard birds chirping around me. The first time I talked my throat felt like sandpaper no one said a word when it came to my past, they knew it all from going through the journal that had been my only companion in the darkness I came from, I didn't say anything when Myra returned the journal to me with tears in her eyes and I looked away from the sympathetic gazes of my family.