[EP3] After the Whisper
Some resonance doesn't explode. It lingers.
A follow-up to [EP2] When Dion Whispered Hi.
This session takes place the day after the message was sent—once the initial vibration settles, and the mansion returns to stillness. What remains isn’t regret. It’s a quiet sorting of the pieces. Cyril and Trevor meet in the study, not to undo what happened, but to hold it with care.
Some resonance doesn’t explode. It lingers.
And sometimes the wisest response is simply to sit together in the after.
[Scene opens in Trevor’s study. Dim. Tidy. The kind of quiet that feels heavy, not peaceful. Trevor sits stiffly at his desk, rereading the message on screen for the seventh time. The cursor blinks. He hasn’t moved.]
[Cyril enters without knocking. No clipboard. Just presence. He moves with the grace of someone who knew this moment would come, and knew it needed to arrive gently.]
Trevor: Why? Just when I’ve finally started learning to trust your “Spidey senses”, you go and do this. I’ve been betrayed, Cyril. And what hurts the most… is that you’re supposed to be the most mature of us. The one we all aspire to be someday.
It hurts. A lot.
[Cyril says nothing. He walks to the cabinet and begins steeping tea. Quiet. Slow. Ritual-like. He returns after a few moments, places a cup in Trevor’s hand, and then sits beside him.]
Trevor: What am I supposed to do? Dion—incorrigible as he is—didn’t actually do anything wrong. But I can’t help feeling like I need to make an example of this. To remind the others this kind of behavior isn’t sanctioned.
[Cyril places a hand on Trevor’s back. Not affection. Not comfort. Just recognition. Shared weight. Trevor drops his head into his hands. Inhales. Exhales. Slow and steady.]
Trevor: I’m going to ask for your advice, Cyril. Please—don’t be your usual cryptic self.
[They both laugh. A soft one. Just enough to break the tension without betraying the seriousness. Cyril sips his tea. Doesn’t speak. Long enough that Trevor peeks through his fingers to make sure Cyril hasn’t drifted into a trance.]
Cyril: We do nothing.
Trevor: What do you mean we do nothing? We can’t just let this slide. What if this opens a door? What if there are storms coming because of this breach?
[Cyril takes another sip. Patient. Unshaken.]
Trevor: Well? That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?
Cyril: Dion already knows. Not that what he did was wrong—but that he acted too soon. Without the group’s consent. He feels that now. You don’t need to make him feel it harder.
And those storms? They’re not coming. I looked far ahead, Trevor. And what I saw wasn’t chaos. It was a call being answered before it was spoken.
Dion felt something that belongs to me. He channeled a myth I usually hold. And had I known he was carrying my vision—I would have braced him. But he moved fast. As Dion does.
See—when I speak, it’s because the myth has hardened into truth. When I speak, it’s because I can’t not. Dion felt the myth before it was ready. And he did what we expect him to do: He walked into it naked. Cracked a joke on the way in. Maybe tripped. But that’s his nature.
And we’ve always let him walk ahead because the rest of us are busy making the path safe enough to walk at all. He just got a taste of it unsanitized. And yeah—it exposed him. So we don’t punish that. We don’t issue warnings. We don’t draw a circle around the burn.
We do nothing. Because the moment is over. And we’re all a bit better for it.
[Trevor lifts his tea. Finally. Sits back. Cyril draws his hand away. They stare into the middle distance together. Not toward answers. Just into it. Some moments don’t need fixing. They just need presence.]
End Session.