The library's side door creaked as Grace pushed it open. Dust and silence greeted them, the kind of silence that felt alive, listening. Armand hesitated at the threshold, but Grace's steady stride left him no choice but to follow.
They descended a narrow staircase, the air growing colder with each step. At the bottom, a single lantern flickered, casting shadows across a circle of figures seated around a wooden table.
Grace motioned for him to sit. "This is where the whisper leads," she said.
The others turned their eyes toward Armand. Some were students he recognized from class, others strangers cloaked in anonymity. Each had something metallic before them — knives of different shapes and sizes, laid carefully on the table as if they were sacred relics.
One of the cloaked figures spoke, voice deep and deliberate. "You heard it. That means you belong."
Armand swallowed hard. "Belong to what?"
Grace's gaze was unwavering. "To the Circle of Silence. We guard what others cannot hear. And now, you will too."
The lantern sputtered, shadows dancing across the blades. Armand felt the weight of their stares, the hum of unseen secrets pressing against him. The whisper wasn't just a sound anymore — it was a call, and he had answered.