The night was heavy with fog as Armand and Grace left the academy grounds. The silence pressed against them, but Armand knew it wasn't empty — it was watching.
A faint scrape echoed from the alley ahead. Grace froze, her hand instinctively reaching for her knife. Armand followed her gaze. Three figures emerged from the shadows, cloaked and silent, their blades glinting faintly.
Grace's voice was low, steady. "Severed Tongues."
The leader stepped forward, his knife humming with a jagged, broken whisper. "The Circle sends children now? How pathetic."
Armand felt the whisper in his own blade stir, warning him. Danger. Trust no one.
Grace raised her knife, its hum calm but firm. "You broke away from the Circle. You chose silence. Why hunt us?"
The leader's laugh was sharp. "Because silence is freedom. The whispers are chains, and we will cut them."
The other two figures moved closer, their blades humming in discordant tones. Armand's pulse quickened. He wasn't ready for this — not against three. But the whisper inside him grew louder, guiding his grip, steadying his breath.
Grace's eyes flicked toward him. "Stay close. Listen."
The Severed Tongues lunged, steel flashing in the fog. The clash of whispers filled the night, louder than any voice, sharper than any blade.