17 – The Silence Before

The Silence Before

Sofia's living room glowed dimly under a single lamp, the fog pressing against the windows like a living shroud. Liam slumped on the couch, bat beside him, his leg and shoulder wrapped tight, blood seeping through—pain a dull roar he ignored. His mom sat across, silent, her tunnel map redrawn by Maya on the coffee table, her eyes hollow but steady. Maya traced runes beside it, sketchbook open, her hand bandaged, pencil steady despite the ache. Sofia knelt by Luna, feeding the dog scraps, wrench within reach, her fierce spirit flickering. Ethan leaned by the door, crowbar dented, radio static hissing—"…anomaly dormant… regroup…"—his ear patched, shoulder stiff. Noah sat cross-legged, journal scraps spread, glasses cracked, piecing Elias's cryptic endgame.

The ley line's death pulsed in their silence—a fragile win. The lullaby was gone, echoes silenced, the Watcher weakened, but the fog stayed thick, the air heavy. Protocol's retreat left a void, not peace. Liam flexed his hand, the badge—Eclipse Protocol—a cold anchor, his dad's ghost closer than ever.

"It's quiet," Sofia said, stroking Luna's fur, voice soft but edged. "Too quiet."

"Line's down," Noah replied, adjusting his glasses, a torn page in hand. "Elias says it starves the Watcher—cuts its reach. We did that."

"For now," Ethan muttered, twisting a dial, static flaring. "They're licking wounds, not gone."

Maya looked up, rune glowing faintly. "No echoes, no pull in our scars. It's weak—trappable."

Liam's mom shifted, voice small. "I don't hear it… but I feel watched."

Liam met her eyes, trust a frayed wire. "You're sure it's not in you?"

She nodded, hands trembling. "It's… outside now. Waiting."

A creak broke the quiet—upstairs, soft, deliberate. Luna growled, hackles up, as the lamp flickered, shadows stretching. The group grabbed weapons—bat, wrench, crowbar, knife—Liam standing, pain shooting through his leg, badge pocketed.

"Roof?" Sofia hissed, wrench up, Luna tense.

"Or inside," Noah said, journal trembling. "Elias mentions 'fragments linger'—not echoes, but pieces."

The creak grew—footsteps, slow, uneven—down the stairs. Liam led, bat raised, the others fanning out, his mom behind. The stairwell loomed, dark, a shadow pooling at the base—not the Watcher, but human, familiar. A figure stepped out—Sofia's abuela, pale, eyeless, smiling too wide.

"Mi niña…" it rasped, voice layered, not hers.

Sofia froze, wrench slipping. "No…"

Liam swung, bat cracking its skull, ichor spraying—it dissolved, shadow pooling, the lamp dying. The lullaby hummed—faint, inside the walls—a whisper: "You can't…"

"It's not her!" Liam yelled, pulling Sofia back. "Fragments—tricks!"

More creaked—ceiling, windows—shapes peeling from shadow: Carter, Liam's dad, Maya's aunt, eyeless, claws gleaming. Ethan's crowbar smashed one, ichor soaking him, Maya's knife slashed another, Noah ducked, chanting—"Fade, break…"—rune wood flaring, scattering them. Sofia's wrench thudded, fierce again, Luna snapping at legs.

"They're weak!" Noah shouted, glasses falling. "Line's down—they're fading!"

The fragments shrieked, dissolving, the hum cutting off, silence crashing. The lamp flared back, flickering, the house still but alive, walls groaning faintly.

"It's testing," Liam said, bat slick, helping his mom up. "Pushing what's left."

"Then we push back," Maya replied, sketching fast, runes glowing. "Trap it—house, tunnels, anywhere."

Ethan wiped his face, grim. "Protocol first—they'll hit before we can."

His radio sparked—"…team two, Raven Hollow… containment priority…"—cutting to static. "They're close," he said, crowbar up. "Minutes, maybe."

Sofia checked Luna, fierce. "We can't run again."

"We don't," Liam said, voice hard, badge a burn. "Here—hold them. Maya, Noah—trap it."

A thud hit the roof—heavy, deliberate—not fragments. Boots, radios crackling: "Breach prep…" The windows rattled, fog swirling, headlights faint but nearing.

"Outside!" Liam yelled, bat up. They spilled into the yard, fog thick, Luna growling, the house a trap now. SUVs loomed—three, operatives deploying, rifles glinting, a voice barking: "Targets in sight!"

Liam dove behind a tree, dragging his mom, bat swinging as an operative lunged—rifle butt cracking his shoulder, pain exploding. He roared, tire iron from his pocket smashing the man's knee, dropping him. Sofia's wrench flew, clocking a helmet, Luna biting, Ethan's crowbar bashed, Maya slashed, Noah ducked, rune wood flaring.

Gunfire erupted—bullets shredding bark, grazing Liam's arm, blood hot. "Hold them!" he yelled, shoving his mom down, tire iron flying, cracking a rifle. Maya smeared blood on her rune, shouting—"Bind it!"—the air pulsing, fog swirling, a shadow flickering—the Watcher, weak, eyeless, clawing.

"It's here!" Sofia screamed, wrench smashing an operative, Luna tearing at legs. The rune flared, light searing, the Watcher shrieking—cosmic, faint—retreating into fog, fragments dissolving.

"Fall back!" an operative barked, rifles retreating, SUVs roaring—"Anomaly active… abort!"—headlights fading, silence falling.

They collapsed in the yard, panting, bloodied, Luna limping. Liam's mom clutched him, whispering, "It's weaker… I feel it."

Maya checked her sketch—no glow, no pull. "Trap's holding—for now."

Noah adjusted his cracked glasses, journal soaked. "Line's dead, but it's still rooted—tunnels."

Ethan wiped blood from his arm, grim. "Protocol's running scared. Good."

Liam stood, shoulder screaming, badge heavy. "They'll regroup. We hit the tunnels—end it."

The fog pressed, dawn gray, a shadow lingered—watching, waiting.

Later, they barricaded Sofia's house—doors locked, windows boarded, Luna patched tighter. Liam's wounds bled, but he stood, badge in hand, map spread. Maya redrew runes, Sofia sharpened her wrench, Ethan rigged the radio, Noah read scraps.

"We've got a shot," Liam said, voice low. "Watcher's weak, Protocol's rattled."

"Trap it deep," Maya added, pencil firm. "Tunnels—seal it."

Sofia nodded, fierce. "For Luna—for them."

Ethan smirked, grim. "Round seven."

Noah closed the journal, calm. "We've got the line's heart. Let's bury it."

Outside, the fog thickened—a whisper threaded—a promise unbroken….