Emily Scott was only ten years old when her mother taught her the rule that would later save her life.
The city never really stopped. Cars moved, people rushed, voices blended into one endless noise.
The restaurant was the kind of place where nothing unexpected ever happened. Soft piano music floated
The mall was loud. Too loud. Voices, footsteps, music—everything blurred together into a single overwhelming noise.
The apartment was too quiet. Not peaceful quiet. The kind that makes every small sound feel louder than
The castle did not sleep that night. Torches burned longer than usual. Guards walked faster.
The hospital hallway smelled like antiseptic and fear. Daniel hadn’t sat down in hours. Maybe longer.
The great hall of the castle was colder than usual that night. Torches flickered along the stone walls
The café was wrapped in golden evening light. Emma sat quietly, her fingers tracing the edge of her cup
The café was quiet that afternoon. Soft jazz played in the background, blending with the low hum of conversations