The silence in the wake of the enemy's taunt was heavier than any noise. The failed counter-attack had left a psychic wound in the air. The shimmering data-tapestry was gone, replaced by a lingering, oily smear in reality where the corrosive signal had burned through. Several of the seventeen delegates were restless again, their calming orbs dimmer, their forms twitching with renewed instability. The Geode's surface was cracking with fresh, faint lines of heat.
Luna had her hands over her ears, her small body trembling. "It's too loud now," she whimpered, not meaning the sound, but the oppressive, hungry silence the message had left behind. "The quiet is screaming."
Seraphina felt a cold fury burning away her earlier dread. Overripe fruit. The words were a stain. They had tried to stand together, and had been swatted aside like insects. She looked at the struggling delegates, at her exhausted daughter, at her allies who wore expressions of shock and brewing rage.
