Echoes in quiet rooms

I walked into one of the old operations rooms today. The walls are bare now, the maps taken down, the cables coiled into boxes.

Once, this room hummed with signals and shouts. Now it’s quiet. Empty.

I sat there for an hour, listening to silence. And I realized: silence can be victory too. Not just suspicion. Not just camouflage. But peace.

Still, I write. Because silence is fragile. If no one remembers the noise, then the silence loses its weight.

So I keep echoing.

The rooms may be quiet. But the echoes remain.