Elaine walked beside Allan through the long corridor, her eyes flicking to him every now and then.
"Is it bad that Kyle knows what you are?" she repeated her earlier question.
"It depends," Allan replied vaguely.
She frowned, a little frustrated at his half-answers. "Depends, how?" she pressed, her curiosity burning. "Are you… are you a bad creature?"
The question made him smile in a strange way, sad but tinged with amusement. He didn't reply, and that only pushed her further. "You don't tell me anything, Allan. Not about you, not about Horace or Gwen. At least at least tell me this much. I'm going to be sleeping next to you for the next eight nights. Don't you think it's right I should know who I'm sleeping beside?"
"Why?" he asked, teasing, but his eyes were distant. "Scared I might eat you in your sleep?" His tone was light, but the glance he threw at her carried something deeper.
"Who knows", she said looking up at him with a stubborn expression, still waiting for his answer.
"Every creature is bad," Allan finally said, his voice low.
Her brows knitted in confusion.
"But every creature is also good," he added, and that only confused her more. "It depends on which one you meet. Even humans… they're both bad and good. But if you ask me…" his gaze turned distant again, "I'd say mostly bad." she wanted to object to this but chose to keep quiet believing everyone had their own point of views.
They walked on in silence, the words lingering between them heavier than she expected.
"Allan," Elaine called softly after a moment.
"Mm?"
"Is it bad that Kyle knows?" she repeated, her voice careful.
Allan's jaw shifted slightly. "Kyle isn't a snitch," he finally said, answering her.
Her lips parted in surprise. "so it isn't bad that he knows " she concluded to herself. "If it isn't bad, then why did he fight you?"
"I don't know," Allan muttered, though deep inside he suspected the reason. Maybe Kyle thought he was hurting her that was a ridiculous idea, ridiculous yet believable.
The silence stretched. The sun was already disappearing down the he horizon, painting the sky gold, casting a dim orange hue on them, the warm breeze brushing past them and ruffling their hair.
"Allan," Elaine said again, her voice softer this time. She didn't look at him, as she had her eyes glued to the sunset.
He turned his head toward her, waiting.
"Can you tell me what you are? Even just a hint." Her voice trembled, like a pull she couldn't resist. Every time she saw him, that thought burned in her chest that she didn't know what he really was. And it left her restless, uneasy. Some strange part of her felt as though he needed help and wanted to help him, but he resisted, always shutting her out, but then that might not turn out to be the case for him.
"Please," she whispered, barely audible, but desperate. She kept her eyes on the fading light, refusing to face him, already bracing for his refusal.
The silence stretched too long. She felt her chest sink with disappointment until his voice broke it.
"A Phantom Lord."
Her head snapped toward him. His tone was quiet, strained, as if saying the words cost him something.
She didn't speak, didn't breathe, afraid he'd stop. And he didn't.
"Just a creature who's death in a human body," he said, his voice heavier now, shadows of emotion flickering in it.
She waited, but he didn't continue. His expression told her enough he was uncomfortable. She wanted to let it go, but curiosity was gnawing at her too sharply.
"Are there… many of your kind?" she asked carefully.
"Not much," he answered calmly, almost too quickly.
"So… what's a Phantom Lord's ability?"
"I suppose you know at least one," he said, and a faint smile broke across his face.
She thought hard, then realized "Manipulating dreams, and memories."
"Correct," he said, pride glinting in his tone, which made her heart heart flutter.
Her lips curved into a wide smile, unable to help it. "So what else can you do?"
"I can twist reality, slightly."
"Like an illusion?"
"Yh. To put it simply."
"What else?" she pressed, her eyes wide, intrigued.
"I'm a master of death's domain, I can become dark, translucent… pass through objects. And " his voice dropped lower, almost drawling, "I never die."
The last words hung in the air, chilling.
Elaine blinked at him, confused. "Allan…" she whispered.
He immediately regretted saying it.
"How old are you?" she asked, the question sounding ridiculous even to her, but when he didn't answer, the silence was enough of a confirmation.
This revelation only made more questions boil inside her, but she swallowed them down. She just lowered her head and gave a shaky smile of disbelief.
The rest of the walk passed in uneasy quiet until she asked, "Where are we going?"
"To meet Gwen and Horace," Allan replied simply.
"Oh." That was all she could think to say.
"So I can head back now?" she asked lightly, as if asking for permission.
"Before that…" he paused, making her glance at him curiously.
"What?"
"The day after tomorrow," he said, then stopped again.
"What about it?"
"There will be a one-week break from school."
"Really?" Her face lit up with sudden joy. With everything happening in this strange, dangerous school, she had almost forgotten about home, about her mom. But as quickly as the smile came, it faltered, as she noticed Allan's expression wasn't a happy one.
"What is it?" she asked carefully.
"You have eight days before you run into complete insanity because of the spirit," he said.
Her breath caught as realization sank in. "I can't go home?"
"You can't stay back either."
Her heart hammered. "So what's going to happen? What about you, you're helping me."
"I also have to leave the school for the break," Allan admitted. Normally, he never left, and even if he did, he wouldn't be gone for more than three days, but he already knew eyes were on him. Mr. Hance was one of them. Staying longer would only prove their suspicions.
"No need to worry," he said casually, slipping his hands into his hoodie pocket.
"No need? Allan, I see a million reasons to worry." she said her heartbeat spiking up.
"I'll be your guest."
Her eyes blinked once, twice, thrice before the words sank in.
"You're going to crash at my house?!"