The academy felt different after Wright's escape. Every shadow seemed heavier, every silence sharper. Armand couldn't shake the echo of the professor's words: parasites… chains… silence.
Grace Johnson walked beside him, her expression unreadable. "He won't stop," she said. "Wright knows too much. And if he's not alone, the Circle is in danger."
Armand frowned. "Not alone?"
Grace nodded. "There are others — people who believe the whispers are poison. They call themselves the Severed Tongues. Wright is one of them."
The name sent a chill through Armand. "Severed Tongues?"
"They were once part of the Circle," Grace explained. "But they broke away, convinced the whispers were lies. Now they hunt us, determined to silence every blade."
Armand's chest tightened. "And Wright… he's gathering them?"
Grace's gaze was steady. "Yes. And if he succeeds, the Circle won't survive."
The whisper in Armand's blade stirred again, faint but insistent. Trust no one. He wondered if it was warning him about Wright… or about Grace herself.
As they left the academy, a figure watched from the shadows. Cloaked, silent, a knife glinting faintly in the dark. The Severed Tongues were already closer than they realized.