Alan's brows twitched, lips pulling slightly in an awkward half-smile he quickly tried to hide.
These people are so carefree, like they're used to all this chaos.
His gaze shifted to Elias, who was calmly watching Graham with quiet amusement.
I should get used to this. This is my job now... but I don't even know what that means yet. Night Clerk does sound fancy.
Alan scanned the room, a faint smirk teasing the edges of his lips as he muttered under his breath, eyes drifting upward to the warm glow of the chandeliers.
"Looks like this is what I'm going to deal with every day now."
Turning toward Elias, he cleared his throat.
"So, what do you guys actually do? Now that I'm part of this mess, I might as well get some answers."
Elias's expression softened as he met Alan's eyes.
"I'll tell you a bit. Basically, you know those ghost hunters from the stories?"
Alan scratched the back of his head, brow furrowed in confusion.
"Yeah… but how does that relate to this job?"
Elias glanced up thoughtfully.
"We're kind of like that. We investigate Night Shades."
Alan's eyes narrowed, a memory flickering at the edge of his mind.
Night Shades… wait, wasn't that the thing he didn't want to talk about when we first met?
He leaned in slightly, curiosity sparking.
"What exactly are Night Shades? And why do you investigate them?"
Elias shifted his gaze toward Murphy and Serena before settling back on Alan, voice low and cautious.
"You should ask the captain. He'll tell you everything, and answer your questions."
Confusion tightened Alan's features.
Why not you? Do they even know the truth? Something's off.
He pressed on,
"Why do I have to meet the captain? Don't you guys know?"
Elias looked between Alan and Murphy, then sighed, eyes flicking upward.
"We know some things, but our answers don't all match. Only the captain and the chief know the full truth."
Alan lowered his head, fingers tapping beneath his jaw in thought.
Hmm… this job's going to be tricky. Everyone's got their own version of the story. Better hear it straight from the source.
He tilted his head with a small smile.
"How about you tell me why you're doing this? I need to hear it from someone with experience."
Elias exhaled slowly, the weight of memory settling in his gaze.
"When I was little, I dreamed about my mom. I never saw her face, though. My adoptive father raised me. As a kid, I loved ghost stories and murder mysteries, those led me to become a detective. I got fired because my reasons were too abstract."
He chuckled softly. "Then I met the chief, she told me things… that eventually brought me here."
His eyes held Alan's with respect as he continued,
"I still don't know why I'm here, in a job that could kill me. But I stay, not because of curiosity, but because I have reasons. Goals. Maybe there are better options out there, but people should value their choices, not just the future, but their own beliefs."
Elias lifted his chin, smiling softly.
"He who has a why to live can bear any how."
Alan smirked, sarcasm flickering in his mind.
This is getting dramatic. Never saw this side of him. Why the sudden philosophy? Did he just steal that quote?
He arched an eyebrow and teased,
"Hey, not to ruin the mood, but that line's plagiarized."
Elias stopped, eyes locked on the chandeliers, voice defensive but quiet.
"It's not."
Alan shook his head with a knowing smile.
"From how you said it, I'm pretty sure I'm right."
He sighed, glancing up at the chandeliers as well.
"Well, that quote fits you perfectly. Just don't put it in your book, you might get sued."
At that moment, a man with tousled copper-red hair, swampy green eyes, and the unmistakable scent of alcohol stumbled out from the hallway, slurring,
"Hi guys, where's the new recruit? I would-d like-e to-o mee-t himmm."
Serena crossed her arms, scowling.
"How many times do I have to tell you? Stop going outside and gambling away all our funds."
The drunk man swayed, a crooked grin on his lips.
"Don't worry, I didn't gamble it all… just bought beer. So, where's the new recruit?"
Murphy wrinkled his nose, pointing a finger at the man's smell.
"You shouldn't get near him with that stench and those manners. You might influence him."
The copper-haired man grinned, waving a dismissive hand before collapsing asleep on the spot.
Alan blinked, baffled.
What the hell... Never mind. At least he looks like the only guy here who could fit in normal society.
Alan shook his head, cleared his throat, and asked, "Who was that? Is he... part of the job? And is he always like that?"
Serena was already marching toward the collapsed man, her arms folding tighter with each step. She grabbed Bruce by the arm and slung it over her shoulder. "His name's Bruce Dwyer. He's twenty-five and... wait... Graham, what day is it?"
A voice echoed from the kitchen. "June twenty-first. Saturday. 1897."
Alan blinked and furrowed his brow.
Wait, it's already Saturday?
Serena paused mid-step. Her eyes flickered with a shadowed kind of weight, as if remembering something buried just beneath the skin. "His birthday's near," she murmured. "He probably couldn't wait... so he went out to celebrate early. You never know when it's your last."
Alan watched her shoulders stiffen beneath Bruce's arm.
That's... somber. If that's what passes for normal here, then this job really is flirting with death.
He stepped forward, voice softer. "That sounds... kinda tragic. Can I ask, Ms. Serena, how did you end up in this job?"
Serena didn't face him, just stared ahead into the hallway. Her voice dropped, flat and tired. "I don't know. Maybe I was just bored."
Without another word, she turned and carried Bruce toward the rooms. Just before disappearing around the corner, her voice floated back like a confession said too loud.
"I'll check on him. He's not sad, just... unraveling slowly. Keeps drinking and reminding himself of his birthday, like weakening the mind makes dying easier."
The room fell into a hush. The clatter of utensils in the kitchen became the only sound.
Alan stayed quiet, eyes tracing the wooden floor.
They're all so tired. Even the silence feels exhausted.
His gaze shifted to Elias, who sat with a curious glimmer in his eyes, almost cheerful, as if untouched by the weight everyone else carried.
Why does he look like the only one enjoying this? Like a child who doesn't know better.
Elias caught the stare and tilted his head. "Hmm? What's with that look? You've got a question?"
Alan bit back the sarcasm that almost slipped through.
Yes. Dozens. But you people dodge questions like toddlers hiding broken toys.
Instead, he met Elias' eyes. "When do I meet the captain? Can I see him now?"
Elias glanced toward the hallway and scratched the back of his neck. "You could, but... his assistant's probably not thrilled about anyone bothering him. He's got his hands full."
Alan looked away, lips tightening.
So the captain's swamped, that Makes sense. But something still feels off.
Murphy, who had been quietly watching the exchange, finally spoke up. "He can meet him. In fact, the captain explicitly said he wanted to meet the recruit. Especially since someone like you took interest in bringing him in."
Elias flinched at Murphy's tone and avoided Alan's stare. "Uhhh... y-you know what? Let's go meet the captain."
Alan narrowed his eyes at Elias.
This guy's hiding something. And he's bad at it.
Alan turned to Murphy with a soft expression and tilted his head slightly. "Where can I meet the captain? I'd like to see him now."
Murphy met his gaze with Alan's bright brown eyes. "Alright," he said, tone as dry as dust. "I'll lead you."
Elias glanced between them. His mouth twisted into a crooked half-smile. "I'll tag along. Might as well explain why I brought you in."
Alan let a smirk tug at the corner of his lips. "Perfect. I'll be sure to tell him how hard you've been working to keep things from me."
Elias blinked. His face flushed, but then a slow, shameless grin replaced it. "Heh. It won't matter. He'll ignore it, this is how I treat everyone."
Alan rolled his eyes and looked away.
Let's just ignore what he said.
He turned back to Murphy. "Let's go, then."
Murphy didn't blink. "Sure."
The three of them stepped into the hallway. The air shifted, colder, quieter. Chandeliers stretched across the ceiling like skeletal hands of light, their flickering bulbs casting shadows that danced along the wooden floor. Strange carvings rippled across the panels, symbols Alan didn't recognize, pulsing subtly with every footstep. Each design looked hand-carved, personally. The walls bore layers of color, not paint, but stories. Deep reds, faded silvers, mossy greens, woven together like a tapestry.
These hallways weren't just built... they were dreamed into place.
They stopped before a door, large, polished, and heavy-looking. A golden knob gleamed beneath the dim chandelier light, almost too perfect, as though it didn't belong in a place like this. The plaque on the front read:
Marcellus — Captain's Station
Alan stared at the lettering, then at the shimmer of gold on the handle. It gave off a quiet weight, not of prestige, but of pressure. Like this door held more than just a man behind it.
Why does this feel... expensive and suffocating at the same time?
The three stood in silence for a heartbeat longer.