Veyne Mansion, Amity Park
The Veyne mansion slept in silence. Its halls stretched long and dark, its walls heavy with portraits of generations gone. In his bedroom, Kael stood before the tall window, moonlight framing his reflection in pale silver.
The night pressed close. So did his thoughts.
I was too calm.
The words replayed in his mind like a flaw in an otherwise perfect performance. He hadn't shown enough shock, hadn't mimicked grief properly. Jazz would notice. She always did. Not the ghost secret—she wouldn't guess that. No, she would see a boy coping with death the wrong way.
His chest tightened. The ache there wasn't grief—it was longing. He'd been close, closer than ever before, to Danny Phantom. To Sam. To Tucker. To the people he'd once watched from a screen. And yet, here he was, locked behind glass, pretending to be a bystander. The weight of that secret was cold and isolating.
But the choice was his now. Stay silent, or gamble.
Slowly, Kael's hands curled into fists at his sides. I'll trust them. Not with everything… not yet. But enough to see if they'll accept me.
The next morning, Kael placed three heavy volumes of books on the library table with deliberate care. The spines caught the fluorescent light, their titles impossible to miss: Apparitions and Ecto-Energy: A Scientific Inquiry, Phantom History: The Haunting of Amity Park, and Dimensional Theory for the Advanced Reader. He opened the first, posture composed, and let the dense words hold him in their quiet gravity.
He didn't look up. But he knew eyes would find him.
Across the library, Tucker groaned and dropped his head onto the pages of Spooky Specters: A Children's Guide to Boos!
"Nothing! Just campfire stories and DIY ghost costumes."
Sam, hunched over Tucker's PDA, jabbed the screen in irritation. "According to this, ghosts are 'manifestations of unresolved emotional trauma.' Great. But what are they made of? How do we fight them?"
Danny slumped in his chair. "Feels like we're running in circles."
Tucker rubbed his eyes and then froze. His gaze snagged on a quiet figure at the far table. "Uh… dude?" He nudged Danny, nodding in Kael's direction. "Look."
Danny turned. His eyes widened.
Kael sat alone, his dark hair catching the light, his attention fixed on the heavy tome before him. The books stacked at his side looked far too advanced for a school library. Bold letters glared back from one spine: ECTO-ENERGY.
Tucker whispered, "No way. The rich kid's into ghost stuff?"
Sam's lips thinned. "Of course he is. His parents' research was all about ghosts. Probably thinks it's a fun hobby."
"Be nice," Danny chided. "He's always been cool to me." Kael had never treated him like a loser; he'd always been more like a quiet, older brother figure who'd spend time with him, play games and a good family friends of the Fentons, almost as if their own family.
Sam snorted softly but didn't argue. Together, the three of them rose and approached.
"Hey, Kael?" Danny's voice was tentative, almost careful.
Kael looked up slowly. His expression was polite, composed, as though he'd been expecting them. "Hello, Danny. How can I help you?"
Tucker gestured at the pile of books. "You into all that… spooky stuff?"
A faint smile tugged at Kael's lips. "You could say that. It's my family's legacy. Since my parents passed, I've been continuing their research. And after what happened at school, well, it seemed wise to go deeper." His voice was steady, quiet but firm—worlds apart from Jack Fenton's booming eccentricity.
Sam crossed her arms. "So you believe in ghosts?"
"Yes." His eyes locked on hers, calm and unflinching. "The folklore at both Amity Park and Elmerton shows patterns. Ghosts appear once, maybe twice a year. But that's changing. They're coming more often. I can't prove it yet, but I intend to." He inclined his head slightly. "The Fentons are among the few who've studied it scientifically. Apart from my parents."
Danny's brows lifted. "Wait, you've been studying this seriously?"
"I've been trying," Kael said simply. "There's more truth in these stories than people realize."
Their questions came quickly. Tucker leaned forward, fascinated, as Kael broke down energy signatures into easy analogies. Sam pressed for logic, and Kael met her with measured explanations, each answer delivered like stepping stones across a river. Danny listened quietly, shoulders loosening as if Kael's certainty steadied him.
But under Sam's sharp gaze, something felt odd. His voice too smooth. His posture is too controlled.
When at last they drifted away, Tucker whispered, wide-eyed, "He knows everything."
Sam frowned, arms folded tight. "No. He knows a lot about everything. It's different. Like he's memorized it all, not lived it. Doesn't that seem weird to you?"
Danny shrugged, almost defensive. "That's just Kael. He's always been brilliant. And after his parents death, burying himself in research makes sense. Honestly, he's already doing better than my dad's 'blast it with a bazooka' approach."
The afternoon hallways smelled faintly of floor polish and cafeteria food. Kael closed his locker with a muted click, turning to leave—
"Seminar in the library?"
The voice made him pause. Jazz leaned against the locker beside his, arms folded, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp.
"They had questions," Kael said evenly. "I had answers."
Jazz studied him for a long moment. His perfect posture, his calm eyes, the way every movement seemed deliberate. A wall of control. A fortress built brick by brick.
"Just…" she lowered her voice, "…be careful, Kael. Some obsessions don't give you answers. They just trap you deeper inside yourself."
She pushed off the locker and walked away, her footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Kael watched her go, unreadable. Then, slowly, he allowed a faint smile to touch his lips.
It was working. They were paying attention.
All he needed was time now. And time was on his side.