Novelas y relatos de Thesilentcompanions

Her aura was cold, her instincts unpredictable. "I heard something about Silence. He kills his enemies in a unique way. He destroys them without them even knowing," Tatiana placed a hand on his shoulder. "Does that ring a bell, uncle?" she whispered, watching as Tristan tried to piece together the puzzle. "Allow me to show you a secret. It wasn't easy to get ahold of this," Tatiana said and signaled for the guard to come closer. The guard pulled out a tablet and clicked on a video. Tristan squinted as the video played.

"Indeed, the threat of the Hidden Silent looms over us all. They are a dangerous and elusive group, skilled in the art of secrecy and manipulation. But fear not, for I have insights that can aid you in your quest." She motioned for us to gather closer, and we leaned in, eager to hear her guidance. Her voice lowered, filled with a sense of urgency. "The Hidden Silent draws its power from the shadows, their whispers reaching even the strongest minds. They manipulate perceptions and sow discord within packs, weakening their unity." "One of you has the ability to foresee danger and help destroy bad channels, who amongst you?" Seraphine asked. I watched as everyone's stare landed on me but Scott'

He said as a smile appeared on his face. "Did it help?" I asked as I tilted my head and stared at him. "Yeah, actually. I like this place because it's so calm and peaceful, it's soothing and relaxing. It makes me forget about my worries for a while. And nobody ever comes here, so it became my special hideout." "So, you've never brought anyone here except Bruno?" I asked slowly. "No. None of my friends or family knows about this place, not even Felix." "And you brought me here." I said, my voice barely above a whisper but knew he heard me.

The air was thick with anticipation as we cautiously approached the entrance, alert for any signs of danger. As we entered the dimly lit warehouse, we were greeted by an eerie silence. The space was vast, filled with crates and shadows that seemed to dance in the flickering light. The atmosphere was suffused with an aura of mystery, each step we took echoing in the emptiness. Suddenly, a low voice broke through the silence, sending shivers down my spine. "Welcome, Mia," it whispered, reverberating through the cavernous space. A figure emerged from the shadows, clad in a dark cloak that concealed their identity. It was a representative of The Silent Hand.

Will she achieve her goal or become a pawn in his sick world? Once again, you have been warned and can turn back if you are uncomfortable with the warning. Welcome to The Silent Stalker!

In a different room. A different life. A speaker made a crackling noise. Static filled the silence. Then a voice. Calm. Deep. One she knew. “You took your time.” Seraphina made a small, broken sound. Silas looked at them. “Who is that?” Neither sister answered. They stared at the screen like kids who opened a door they were told never to touch. The voice kept going. Gentle. Almost like he was smiling. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come back here on your own.”

He simply gave a small, shy smile and took a slight, graceful bow. ​For the first time in his life, the silence wasn't a prison he was locked inside it was a choice he was making. It was a space he owned. And as the neighborhood erupted into applause, the sound washing over him like a warm tide, Tobi realized that while he might always be "The Quiet One," his heart would always be the loudest, most vibrant thing in the room.

"You heard a ghost, Bianca. Nothing more." "I know what I heard!" I walked right up to Dante, stopping just a foot away. I was half his size, but I didn't care. "You spoke. You called me 'little genius.' You're playing a game, Dante. The 'Silent Don' is a lie. It’s a gimmick to keep your enemies afraid because they can’t read you." Dante didn't flinch. He reached out, his large hand wrapping around my waist. Before I could scream, he pulled me flush against him.

The silence came like a held breath, silver noticed it when she woke. She lay still beneath the furs, eyes open, waiting for the familiar brush of sound along the edges of her thoughts. The whispers had become a constant companion over the past weeks, unwelcome but predictable. They curled through her mind at odd hours, pressed into her insecurities, named her fractures with cruel intimacy. This morning, there was nothing, no murmur or presence. Her chest tightened. She sat up slowly, pressing two fingers to her temple as if she could coax the sound back. The quiet stretched, deep and unnatural, like a forest emptied of birds, it was too still.

He knows I am slipping into a place he cannot follow. "We need to find out who the Watchers are," I say one evening, breaking the silence that has settled between us. "We have searched every text. Every scroll. Every elder who still draws breath." His voice is gentle, patient. "There is nothing." "Then we are not looking in the right places." "Where else is there to look?" I am silent. Then an idea sparks. "The Silent Ones. They told me they were witnesses. They watch. They know things." "You want to summon them again?"