The office was in ruins — papers scattered, shelves cracked, the lantern flickering weakly. Professor Wright staggered back, his blade trembling in his hand. The resonance of Armand's and Grace's knives had broken his rhythm, forcing him to retreat.
"You don't understand," Wright hissed, his voice ragged. "The whispers are not guardians. They are parasites. They feed on fear, on obedience. And the Circle… the Circle is their nest."
Grace's knife gleamed, steady and calm. "You're wrong. The whispers warn us. They save lives."
Wright's eyes burned with desperation. "Or they trap you in chains you can't see." He clutched his journal, backing toward the door. "You'll see. When the whispers turn against you, you'll beg for silence."
Before Armand could move, Wright slipped into the hallway, vanishing into the shadows. The hum of his blade faded, leaving only the echo of his words.
Armand lowered his knife, his chest heaving. "He's not finished. He'll come back."
Grace nodded, her expression grim. "And when he does, he won't be alone. Wright isn't the only one who wants the Circle destroyed."
Armand felt the weight of the whisper pressing against him again, softer now, but insistent. Trust no one.
The battle was over, but the war had only begun.