𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝐻𝑒 𝐵𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒 by FancyPoetryBread
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (Your Here)
Summery: A Banshee’s song is her greatest gift, her deadliest weapon, and her most sacred possession — a melody born of grief and fate. But yours is silent. Desperate to break the quiet pressing on your chest, you turn to Nevermore’s most brilliant — and most arrogant — student, Isaac Night. Two broken lives, stitched together by necessity. But will your story end in healing... or in the grief and heartbreak your silence has always promised?
Warnings: Swearing, No use of y/n, tensionnn
You sat with your friends in the ever-bustling Nevermore courtyard, the air buzzing with laughter as someone retold a tragic - and hilarious - incident involving a supposedly dead lizard in biology class that turned out to be very much alive.
You couldn't laugh aloud - your faulty vocal cords saw to that - but your grin said everything.
Moments like this, surrounded by the few people who truly understood you, made the silence easier to bear. Your social circle was small, but they were your whole world - the best thing that had ever happened to you.
You sat shoulder to shoulder, all of you leaning forward, wide grins plastered across your faces. The table groaned under the weight of six people, but none of you noticed. You were too caught up in the hushed, giggly whispers - exciting stories and embarrassing memories passed back and forth inside the warm little bubble your group had formed.
Then, a sharp poke in your back shattered it.
You flinched, instinctively reaching behind you to grab at whatever had jabbed you, twisting into an awkward position as you whipped your head around, brows furrowed. But your expression softened when you saw who it was - Isaac, towering behind you.
His face was its usual mask of cold indifference, but you caught the subtle stiffness in his posture. He was uncomfortable, that much was obvious - surrounded by people he'd known for years, yet still didn’t trust. How terribly frightening.
You weren’t exactly thrilled that he’d barged into your circle, and that must have shown on your face, because Isaac’s eyes narrowed, and a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth - sharp and amused.
“Don’t look so happy to see me, Dove,” he sneered.
That, of course, caught your friends’ attention. Their hungry gazes snapped toward you and Isaac with almost supernatural speed, eyes wide with surprise. You couldn’t really blame them - Isaac didn’t talk to anyone, at least not willingly, and you didn’t talk at all.
But what you didn’t expect was the soft wolf whistle that came from behind you.
You whipped your head around - again - this time to glare at the friend across from you. Honestly, if you kept this up, you were going to give yourself whiplash. Or a concussion. Probably both.
Your friend only offered a soft smile in response to your fierce glare.
Do not encourage this behavior, you thought sharply.
Isaac, meanwhile, didn’t seem to notice the teasing - or, more likely, didn’t care in the slightest. His mind was clearly elsewhere, obsessively focused on whatever had driven him to wade through a crowd of bustling students just to find you.
You stood up abruptly, grabbing Isaac’s arm as you strode away from the table. Whatever this was, you preferred to continue it far from your friends. You didn’t want your normal life blending with... this.
Isaac made a few attempts to shake your grip, but you didn’t let go. Instead, you dragged him into a nearby empty hallway. Not the most discreet location - especially considering the accusations your friends would no doubt hurl your way later.
You knew them well. And as much as you loved them, they were far too quick to jump to conclusions - boys and beauty secrets always at the forefront of their minds. Usually, it was endearing, even comforting, a fun escape that made your life feel somewhat normal again.
But moments like this? It could be exhausting.
“Nice choice,” Isaac smirked, his voice dripping with that usual arrogant amusement. “Not suspicious at all.”
You grimaced at him. Don’t even try, you thought, rolling your eyes as you crossed your arms expectantly.
Your message was clear enough - and Isaac got it. He dropped the attitude and got to the point.
“I’ve been digging through the library, seeing what I could find on... well, anything, really,” he said, stuffing his hands lazily into his pockets. “Let’s just say your case isn’t exactly common.”
You already knew that. With a lazy flick of your hand, you gestured for him to keep going.
He did. “But - I think we can try harmonic therapy.”
You shot him a flat, unimpressed look. One that clearly said: You think I haven’t tried that already?
To his credit, Isaac didn’t falter. If anything, he looked... energized. His voice picked up with a flicker of excitement you hadn’t expected - and couldn’t quite explain.
He was starting to get the hang of your silences.
“I can build something,” Isaac said, eyes flicking with a strange light. “A machine designed to emit precisely tuned frequencies - to coax your vocal cords into loosening. Like vocal physical therapy but... spectral.”
His tone was almost excited now. But not the bright, eager kind of excitement.
No - this was darker. Focused. Obsessive.
It was beginning to unnerve you.
You nodded slowly, turning the idea over in your head - pretending, just for a moment, that you had even a sliver of his intelligence, if only to stop yourself from feeling small in front of him.
The idea made sense. It wasn’t unfamiliar - you’d tried harmonic therapy before, of course - but always on a small scale. Controlled. Gentle. In the safe enviroment of a doctor's office. not the lab of a lowkey crazy mad scientist.
And if there was one thing you’d learned about Isaac in the two weeks you’d known him, it was that nothing he did was ever small scale.
The image of being strapped to a table, reduced to little more than a test subject, wasn’t exactly comforting. But if this brought you closer to your scream - to control - to the feeling of finally being whole, to a normal life...
You’d take it. recutantly of course, but you'd take it.
You nodded again. This time, it was different - more certain. A silent agreement.
Or maybe just an attempt to convince yourself that this wasn’t the start of something you couldn’t undo.
That everything was going to be okay.
You met his gaze - he was already watching you, eyes locked onto yours, sharp and unrelenting. There was something in the way he looked at you, like he was trying to read permission in your silence, waiting for any sign that you were truly okay with this. That you wanted this.
Your face held both resolve and fear, a fragile mix of defiance and uncertainty - but it was enough. Your answer was clear.
“Good,” he said - but it came out like a verdict, not a word.
The air around him shifted, charged now with that crackling intensity he never bothered to hide. The kind of giddiness that didn’t belong to joy, but to discovery - the thrill of a new experiment unfolding before his eyes. You could already see it overtaking him.
“I’ll start drafting the blueprints tonight,” he continued, half to you, half to himself. “But I need you back at Lago Tower by sundown. There are more variables to test - I can’t finalize the resonance design until I know exactly how your system responds.”
He was already turning, mind sprinting miles ahead of his body.
"And don’t eat anything weird before hand."
Before you could even give him a questioning look, Isaac had already turned and was striding back toward Franciouse - who was now deep in conversation with a tall, impossibly elegant woman that stole your attention the moment you saw her.
You knew exactly who she was. Everyone did.
And standing beside her, unmistakably devoted and equally dramatic, was her lover - Gomez Addams.
There’s no way.
No. Actual. Way.
Isaac was friends with Morticia?
But the longer you watched them interact, the clearer the picture became. It wasn’t Morticia he was speaking to, not really. It was Gomez.
And while Isaac did his best to mask it, the subtle shifts in his posture, the restrained smirks, the barely-there nods - all of it betrayed something undeniable. He and Gomez Addams were friends.
Or… something close to it.
Though, judging by Isaac’s expression, he wasn’t exactly thrilled to admit it.
It was a terrible thought - but you were genuinely shocked. You hadn’t thought Isaac had any friends. Watching him interact with people was strange in itself… almost unnatural, like seeing a wolf politely make conversation at a dinner party.
You didn’t realize how blatantly you were staring until Morticia’s gaze lifted and met yours.
Even from across the room, her eyes were unmistakable - deep black, but not cold. There was something soft in them, something graceful. Like velvet shadow.
And suddenly, you were the one who felt out of place.
She held your gaze for a moment too long. Just as you began to lower your head, ready to turn away and disappear into the background, her lips - perfectly shaped and painted in a sleek, inky black - curled into a soft, knowing smile.
It wasn’t condescending. It wasn’t pity.
It was something quieter. Something sad.
An understanding - gentle and deep - like she saw straight through you.
And somehow, that subtle look struck harder than anything else.
Your chest tightened.
And for a heartbeat, you swore you could feel the hollow space inside you - the one you'd tried so hard to ignore - ache like it had been touched.
You managed a small, polite smile in return - brief, barely there - before quickly turning away, needing to break whatever quiet trance she’d pulled you into.
You didn’t feel like rejoining your friends in the courtyard. No doubt they’d pounce the moment you sat down, eager to ask why, exactly, you’d dragged Isaac Night into a secluded hallway like something out of a scandalous romance novel.
Sure, you could admit Isaac was… well, easy on the eyes.
Pale skin, delicate curls dark as shadow, and eyes sharp enough to cut through silence.
Alright fine, yes - he was a beautiful man.
But that wasn’t going to happen.
Not with him.
But that was the last thing on your mind right now.
The plans you and Isaac had made - well, mostly Isaac, really, seemingly powered by some strange new surge of enthusiasm - were now officially your problem too. You weren’t a genius inventor. Not even close. But you’d promised to help, and it was your voice, your condition. It felt wrong - rude, even - to leave him alone to figure it all out.
So, instead of wandering aimlessly around campus, you decided to head straight to your next class. The familiar cobblestone walls and winding hallways had lost their charm long ago, and the endless shrieks and laughter of passing students did little to calm your mind. A quiet classroom sounded like exactly what you needed.
The room was quiet when you entered - rows of empty desks, a clean whiteboard still glinting faintly from its last wipe-down. Class wouldn’t start for a while yet. You took your usual seat near the front, setting your bag down with a dull thud and slipping into the cold chair. The chill of the metal bit through your clothes, making you flinch, but you barely noticed.
The classroom may have been still, but your mind wasn’t. It was racing - flicking through theory after theory, imagining what kind of twisted, beautiful, horrifying machine Isaac might build. What would it sound like? What would it do? What would it feel like to scream again - or worse, to fail again?
It was exhausting. Overwhelming.
You rested your head in your palm, trying to still the chaos, letting your gaze drift to the sunbeams slanting through the window. Dust motes spun and floated lazily in the golden light, giving the space an almost sacred stillness.
But your thoughts wouldn't let you rest.
You inhaled sharply, trying to ground yourself - a deep, steadying breath.
Not with fear. This was different. Heavier.
Your hand flew to your throat. Muscle shifted beneath your fingers - not smoothly, not naturally. It spasmed once. Then again.
What the fuck is going on?
Your heartbeat skidded into panic. You sat frozen, gripping your neck like you could keep something in - or maybe out. And then it happened.
Faint. Barely there. But unmistakable. A hum - soft and strange, like a breath vibrating against the walls of a locked room. You weren’t sure if you heard it with your ears or felt it in your bones.
It wasn’t possible. It shouldn’t be possible. But the pressure still sat there, tight and burning, and for the first time in months - maybe years - something inside your throat moved.
Your first instinct was to run. The nurse, maybe Isaac. Someone. But you didn’t move.
Because despite the ache, despite the fear, something else flickered inside you. A fragile, glowing thought:
No. No, that couldn’t be right. They were overdeveloped - Isaac said so. Too dense, too thick to even vibrate. They were shutting down, not waking up.
You had just managed to release the pressure in your next by twisting your head side to side. the panic that had filled your chest began to disapate and was replaced with confusion and unease.
You barely noticed the next person to enter the room: Isaac. no surprise there, he did typically get here before everybody else. Your eyes followed him as he sat down on the bench across from you, pulling out a thick book with too many loose papers to count.
You thought about telling him what happened, but other students had began walking in. You'll ask him later.
The rest of the day dragged by with unbearable slowness. Your mind spun so violently through spiraling thoughts that you were surprised your head didn’t follow suit. Every sound, every shift of light, every passing conversation became a new thread to pull - and pull you did, until your thoughts frayed into static.
You’d tried to catch Isaac later in the day. You’d spotted him with Franciouse just outside the greenhouse, but the moment he saw you approaching, he was quick to dismiss her. That alone left you more unsettled than anything else.
The question clung to you like a cold sweat.
Now, night had settled over the campus like a heavy quilt. The world outside was quiet - but not to you. Not here.
The rattle and groan of the elevator up to Lago Tower echoed through the shaft like bones grinding in a throat. As much as you usually appreciated the noise - the distraction, the proof that something was moving - it was unbearable.
God, it drove you insane.
Each shuddering jolt up the tower felt like a countdown.
To what, exactly, you weren’t sure.
But you could feel it crawling closer.
You and Isaac had been working on a way to open your vocal cords for nearly two weeks now. Countless diagrams and sleepless nights - but finally, you had a plan. All that was left was to set it in motion.
The elevator lurched to a stop with its usual violent bang. You didn’t flinch - you were used to its fury by now. It groaned like something dying, but at this point, it was just part of the routine.
The smell hit you as the doors opened: iron and paper, sharp and musty - a scent you'd come to associate with sleepless obsession. The lab was no warmer than the metal coffin that carried you up, and the sight inside hadn’t changed. Massive machines lined the walls, hulking in shadows like cloaked giants, motionless but humming faintly with menace.
You stepped inside like you did almost every night, boots clicking against the tile, knuckles rapping on the metal table out of habit - a sharp, metallic clack to announce your arrival.
Isaac jolted upright from where he was hunched over the workbench, eyes wide, shoulders tense. He looked like he’d been caught in the middle of something he shouldn’t have been doing.
“God, fucking hell-” he hissed, clutching at his chest like you’d scared the soul out of him. “Don’t do that.”
You raised an eyebrow. It wasn't that bad you big baby. you thought, watching him hastily gather a handful of blueprints and shove them into one of his disaster-zone drawers, paper crumpling in his rush.
You brushed it off. Whatever he was hiding could wait - you weren’t here to unravel Isaac’s secrets. No matter how much you wanted to. You were here to get to work.
Crossing the room, you pulled out the extra chair - the one he’d placed beside his desk a few days after you started working together. It was a small, almost imperceptible gesture at the time, but you remembered it. You still appreciated it. Considering his nature.
Isaac settled into the seat beside you, clearing his throat in that overly formal way he always did when preparing to lecture. His face was the usual mask of cool indifference, all sharp lines and unreadable intent.
“Before we begin,” he said, voice smooth, but clipped with that signature edge of superiority, “I want to check whether your vocal cords have thickened any further since our last session. After that, I’ll start refining the blueprints.”
He spoke like a man delivering orders to a subordinate, not a peer - but then, Isaac was always like this in the lab. Precise. Detached. In control.
It used to grate on you.
Now, it was only mildly irritating.
Progress, you supposed.
You nodded, wordless as always, letting him carry on - though something in the back of your mind still hummed with your usual unease.
Isaac was scanning the notes from your last session, flipping through pages already marked with fine scribbles and precise annotations. It hadn’t been long since he last tested the condition of your vocal cords - barely a few days, in fact - but Isaac was meticulous. He liked to double-check. And then check again.
Without looking up, he began pulling off his gloves, distracted and automatic in the motion. The worn leather peeled away, revealing pale, elegant hands - skin like porcelain under the lab’s sterile light, marred only by the faintest ink stains and old burn scars from past inventions gone wrong.
You watched them for a moment too long.
The movement of his fingers, the quiet efficiency of it, the strange contrast between delicacy and control - it was hypnotic in a way you didn’t want to admit. You quickly shifted your gaze back to his face, catching him still absorbed in his notes, brow slightly furrowed.
Isaac finally turned his attention back to you, eyes flicking down to your throat with clinical precision. His gaze lingered just long enough to make your pulse stutter just slightly, barely noticeable.
Without a word, he raised a hand - smooth, pale, and steady - and reached for your neck with the same practiced and unbothered ease he reserved for delicate instruments or volatile chemicals. It should’ve felt cold. Distant.
But then he did something unexpected.
He tugged you closer - just slightly. Barely more than a few inches, really. But enough that you felt the shift. Enough that your breath caught in your chest.
It wasn’t forceful, and it wasn’t careful either. Just necessary - to him, at least. He didn’t want to lean too far over to reach you. Efficiency. That’s all.
Still, the heat bloomed low in your stomach.
You told yourself it was discomfort.
Just discomfort.
Purely clinical. Perfectly explainable.
And yet, as his fingers brushed your throat - steady, analytical - your body refused to listen.
Your eyes fluttered shut, mortified by the way your heartbeat quickened as he leaned in, his breath barely grazing your skin. His touch was light but sure, delicate yet unmistakably firm, as his fingers pressed and traced along the lines of your neck with quiet intent.
This didn't feel like a test anymore, it felt like he was teasing you. fingers gliding across your neck with quiet amusement. Oh he was defiantly teasing you, he had to be.
But Isaac said nothing, didn’t notice the way your body tensed beneath his touch - too focused, or maybe he just didn’t care. Or worse, maybe he had noticed, and was drawing it out on purpose - a sick bastard who took pleasure in watching you squirm for him.
You cursed yourself for letting the butterflies loose - but honestly, could you be blamed? Isaac was, sure, an attractive guy, and anyone would feel a little on edge with a man like that touching their neck.
You squeezed your eyes shut, silently praying he’d be done soon. You were so caught up in those desperate thoughts, you didn’t even notice your breathing had turned to soft, shallow pants.
“Stop breathing like that,” he said. “You’re only going to drag this out. Unless that’s what you’re going for.”
His voice was flat - but the smug grin on his face told a different story. Gosh he was infuriating. and yet, you kept coming back.
You shot him a sharp glare - the kind that was supposed to say, This isn’t affecting me. But you both knew better.
You chose to ignore the truth. Isaac, on the other hand - with that damn superiority complex - found the whole thing wildly amusing. And clearly, he wasn’t finished playing his little game.
His hand traveled up the column of your neck, fingers soft but deliberate against your skin. They traced the curve of your jaw, slow and certain, until they found your chin - his touch shifting just enough to grip it, lifting your face to meet his own at an agonizingly slow pace.
You couldn’t believe what was happening. This sick bastard was using your body - your emotions - as his own twisted form of entertainment. Just to watch you squirm. What a fucking asshole.
And yet… you didn’t pull away.
You just sat there, perfectly still. And waited.
"Tell me what happened, Dove. I know something did."
His voice was low, but firmer now - that obsessive edge creeping back in, stark against the gentleness of his fingers still cradling your chin.
You hadn’t noticed it until now, but with his touch shifting away from your neck, the pressure began to return - not as sharp as before, but enough to settle beneath your skin, unwelcome and persistent.
Isaac turned, finally letting go of your chin.
And for a fleeting second, you almost - almost - missed the contact.
But not quite.
He picked up a sheet of paper, turned it toward you, and held it out.
“Write,” he said - no, ordered, really.
You rolled your eyes, snatched the paper from his hand, and grabbed a pencil from where it had been left abandoned nearby.
Everything you felt in that classroom spilled out - the pressure, the tightness in your chest, the struggle to breathe… and the hum. That strange, low hum that felt like something ancient, something calling.
Like a flicker of identity, fragile but insistent. A spark just beginning to catch.
Isaac read in silence, that brilliant mind of his already spinning with theories and possibilities. But one thing became painfully clear - he needed to move faster. Time wasn’t on his side. Your body was adapting quicker than he’d anticipated, shifting beneath his calculations like sand through his fingers.
Time - such a useless, intangible thing. And yet, somehow, it held all the power.
And he was running out of it.
Isaac let out a sound that was far too close to a growl, shoving papers aside until he cleared a space on the desk. Snatching the nearest clean sheet, he began sketching - fast, precise, obsessive. Pages littered the surface, each one covered in diagrams of what looked like variations of the same machine.
He worked furiously, the pencil scratching so hard against the paper you were half convinced he'd carve a hole straight through the desk.
Curious - or maybe just desperate - you dragged your chair closer, peering over his shoulder at whatever had consumed him so completely.
A device. No... a collar?
It didn’t look like one - not in the traditional sense - but it was designed to encircle the neck, delicate and disturbingly intricate. There was too much detail for your mind to process all at once, lines contraptions layered like a language you’d never been taught.
And yet, despite the way it made your skin crawl, you felt something else bloom in your chest: hope.
Ugly as it was, unnerving as it felt - it was your only chance right now. And that made you love it.
You were starting to feel giddy now - almost excited - but you forced it down. You didn’t dare jinx it. This was the closest you’d ever gotten, and you weren’t about to ruin it now.
But Isaac looked tense. His shoulders were rigid, brows furrowed in concentration.
You reached out, fingertips brushing just beneath his shoulder blade - and he flinched. His head whipped around, eyes sharp with surprise. You’d startled him. Again.
But this time was different.
There was no soft edge to him now - only seriousness, cold and clipped, like he didn’t have time to entertain your presence.
“I think I can handle this on my own tonight. It’s late. You should head back to your room. We'll test how your system responds to the tests tomorrow.”
His voice was flat, firm. Dismissive.
It caught you off guard. Weren’t you supposed to be doing this together? Since when did he become so… weird?
His eagerness to send you away left a quiet sting in your chest. You tried to brush it off, but the ache lingered.
Maybe he was just being arrogant again - convinced he could handle everything on his own, without anyone’s help. Typical Isaac. Still, your stomach twisted with unease, and the pressure in your throat tightened - just enough to make it hard to swallow.
You rose slowly, patting his shoulder in a quiet, uncertain goodbye. Then you turned toward the elevator, moving at a pace that made it clear you weren’t quite ready to leave. Your eyes stayed on him the whole way, waiting - hoping - for something.
But he didn’t look up. Didn’t acknowledge you at all.
“Actually, could you find Françoise and tell her to come up-”
He cut himself off mid-sentence, his jaw tightening as he reconsidered.
“No. Don’t. I’ll go to her myself.”
His tone was cold - colder than usual - and this time, it stung. It wasn’t the usual Isaac-brand indifference. This was sharper, distant in a way that felt almost calculated.
And for a brief, confused second, you couldn’t help but wonder -
What the hell had twisted his panties this time?
“Have a good night, Dove.”
Isaac never said goodnight - or goodbye, for that matter. His voice still held that same icy edge, but the nickname… it softened the blow. Slightly. Even if you knew he mostly used it to get under your skin.
You were nothing like a dove - and he knew it.
The elevator doors slid shut, stealing him from view.
As you began the slow descent, you leaned against the cool metal wall, brows knit in thought. Something about the way he’d said it, the way he’d dismissed you - it didn’t sit right.
Maybe he was just tired. Maybe tomorrow would make more sense.
Still, you couldn’t shake the quiet hum of unease curling in your gut.
Whatever tomorrow held, one thing was certain:
Isaac was planning something.
You just weren’t sure if it was for your sake - or his.
A/N: Hello angels! 💕I hope you enjoyed this chapter of The Silence He Broke, I found this one really fun to write. and to be honest, I think i'm now three assignments behind because I spent so much time today writing the bulk of this but i'm really quite proud of it. anyway, please let me know what you think, I love hearing what you guys have to say and as always, I hope you all have an amazing day or night, wherever you are! 💋
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