The Quiet That Hurts

Langley was never silent. 

Even in the early hours of the day, before workers stirred and the market gates opened, there was always some sound: the creak of carriages being loaded, the soft murmurs of scholars rising early to study, and the faint clanging of tools from the workshop yard. 

But now, a strange emptiness hung in the air. It was a quiet that felt heavy, not peaceful—it felt absent.

Elias Langley sat at the long council table, his fingers hovering over a report he could barely make sense of. The ink blurred into streaks. It wasn't because he was tired. He simply couldn't care about the numbers on the page. 

Selene used to read these reports. She would come in before dawn, skim each detail in moments, and dictate a week's worth of actions with a tone that left no room for disagreement.

Now, the table was littered with untouched scrolls, unfinished contracts, and unanswered letters.

A scholar entered the room, hesitant. "Duke Langley, the academy staff is asking for an update on the distribution funds for the new students." 

Elias nodded. "Give me time to review the ledgers." 

The scholar paused. "Miss Cromwell usually—" 

"I said I'll review them," Elias cut in. 

The scholar bowed and left, mumbling something under his breath. 

Elias heard it anyway. 

"She wouldn't have needed time." 

He didn't reply, but the words lingered. 

By midday, the tension had started to show. The trade council needed him to approve changes to a route that Selene had mapped out from memory. A blacksmith from the outskirts mentioned rumors of unrest near the mining tunnels—areas Selene had personally negotiated for protection. No one knew what to do next. No one wanted to voice it, but everyone felt the same thing: 

Langley's pulse had quieted. The momentum Selene had built was beginning to fade. 

He stood from his desk and walked toward the old records room—one of the few places she spent her nights when no one could find her. It smelled of ink, wood, and oil. Her scent still faintly lingered. He opened drawers and pulled out parchment after parchment until he located her folders—pages filled with her notes. 

He didn't understand everything at first. Her calculations were complex, her diagrams detailed to the point of obsession. But as he sorted through them, a pattern started to emerge. Selene had plans. Plans for months, even years ahead. She wasn't just fixing Langley; she had been rebuilding its entire foundation quietly. 

Her handwriting filled the margins of the pages:

"Restructure the grain routes before winter." 

"Too much cost in the northern supply chain. Consider rerouting with forged permits." 

"Duke Langley will likely object to this. Present the success rate first." 

He let out a breathless laugh. 

She had written notes for his responses. She had planned around his resistance. She had played chess while he hadn't even known a game was being played. 

And she had done it all quietly and tirelessly. 

He pressed a palm against the center of one sheet, where her ink had trailed off mid-thought. 

"She really wasn't planning to leave," he murmured. 

He stared at the candlelight flickering against the walls. His reflection in the window looked pale and tired. 

He didn't want to admit it. But the truth had been pressing against his chest since the moment she left: he missed her. Fiercely. Not for the work she did, not for the duties she fulfilled—but for how she filled the spaces she entered. For the conviction in her voice. The fire that burned in her whenever someone doubted her worth. 

He missed the way she stood firm in a room full of doubt. 

He missed the way she challenged him. 

He missed… her. 

Elias ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the window. Outside, the academy students moved in small groups, their laughter distant. The town still lived. Trade still flowed. But everything felt thinner. 

As if Langley had lost its backbone. 

No one knew where she had gone. No one knew what she was facing now. But Elias couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Not just politically. Not strategically. 

Something inside her. Something she had hidden beneath her composed, brilliant surface. 

The quiet in Langley wasn't peaceful. 

It was grieving. 

And Elias, though he would never say it aloud, felt it most of all.