Elara's Point of View
"Who's there?" My voice shook, and it was high and sharp. I held on to the edge of the door and felt my heart pounding in my ears.
A low voice said, "I... I don't know." Calm and smooth. Too calm, almost. "I just came in."
I stopped. My heart hit my ribs. My hand shook, but I stayed put. There were shadows in the hallway, and a man came into the light.
At first, he looked like everyone else. He had his hands in his pockets, dark hair falling over his forehead, and pale skin that shone in the dim light of the lamp. Then my chest got tight. His eyes. Oh my God, his eyes. Deep and warm, like they could get secrets out of you without saying a word.
"I—I live here," I stuttered, but the sound barely came out.
He blinked slowly, as if he didn't get it. "Do you?"
"Yes," I said, louder. "I just moved in."
He nodded, as if that made everything clear. But he kept looking at me. The way he quietly looked at me made me feel unsafe. Something that made me want to move forward. And something that made me want to run.
"Who are you?" I asked with a lower, sharper voice.
"I'm... Silas," he said. It sounded strange coming from him, like he had been carrying it around for a long time but had forgotten how heavy it was.
I swallowed. "I'm Elara."
We stayed there. Just looked. We didn't say anything for a long time. Then he moved closer.
"Do you always live by yourself?" he asked. He spoke softly and carefully, as if he didn't want to scare me, but there was something in his tone that made it hard to relax.
"Yes," I said. "I... I like it that way."
"Do you?" He raised his eyebrows. "Lonely, then?"
I didn't say anything. I didn't want to. I didn't even know why the question made me feel so bad.
The hallway was small. When he moved, our hands almost touched as he brushed past mine. Suddenly, a strong shiver ran up my spine. I took a step back. He moved forward. But we stayed there, two steps apart, with the air between us thick and charged.
Finally, he said, "I'm sorry." "I don't belong here." I didn't mean to—
"I—I'm not scared," I said, even though my chest felt tight. "I just... I didn't think anyone would come."
He smiled a little. "Me neither." I just walk around here at night.
I frowned. "Wander?"
"I can't stay during the day," he said, looking away from me. "It doesn't work for me."
"What doesn't work?" I pushed. "Why are you here? Are you—
"I don't know," he said quickly, as if he were going to snap. Then, in a softer voice, "I just come at night." Always have.
My stomach turned. The way he said it made me want to reach out and hold him close and never let him go. Something that was wrong and impossible told me not to. But I still wanted it.
"You... you never sleep?" I asked.
"I do," he said. "But... not here." Not in the house. He spoke in a low voice. Weak. Weak.
I felt a strange sympathy for him, as if I wanted to make whatever was hurting him better. "Then why do you come?"
He said, "Because it feels safe."
I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I didn't know why I stayed where I was. He was close enough that I could touch his sleeve with my fingers. Not allowed, but too good to pass up.
I almost did.
The air around us changed. His hand moved, almost on purpose, and touched mine. I pulled it back quickly, embarrassed, and my cheeks were hot.
He said, "I... I shouldn't be doing this," and his voice was low and rough. "I can't—"
"Can't what?" I whispered and moved closer, ignoring the warning in my chest.
He thought about it. His eyes went to the window, where moonlight spilled across the floorboards, and then back to me. "Touch," he finally said. "I can't... touch."
My heart skipped a beat. "Why?"
He shook his head. "I'm... I don't know. It has never worked. Not here."
I bit my lip. The stress between us made my stomach hurt. My hands were sweaty. "So, what are you?"
He turned his head away. Long seconds went by. I thought he might go. The thought made my chest hurt. After that, he looked me in the eye again.
He whispered, "I don't feel dead."
I frowned because I was scared and confused. "Then, you're still alive?"
He smiled slightly, with a sad, almost guilty curve to his lips. "I'm not sure. I just am.
I wanted to get in touch. I wanted to touch him so I could be sure he was real. I moved closer. My hand shook. His hand moved toward mine, stopped, and then pulled back.
"I told you," he said in a tight voice. "I can't."
I said, "I don't care," and stepped a little closer. "I just want to get to know you." That's it.
His eyes got softer. Something I couldn't name, pain, longing, flickered in them. He said, "You shouldn't," almost begging.
"I know," I said softly. "But I can't stop."
The sound of the clock striking dawn made him stop. He suddenly took a step back. "Sunlight... I can't...
"Stop!" I reached for him, desperate, wanting, and scared.
But he wasn't there.
Gone.
I blinked. There was no one in the hallway. My fingers were still tingling where our hands had almost touched. My chest hurts. My mind was screaming that it couldn't be done. That he had never been there before.
I ran to the window. The first rays of light were spilling into the sky. He couldn't have left yet. Not after that. Not after we...
I whispered into the empty hallway, shaking. "Please... come back."
The door made a noise. Slowly. It was almost like the house was breathing in response.
I stopped.
A shadow moved behind the door. My heart raced. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
And then I felt it: something in the room, close, warm, and impossible.
I couldn't see him yet. But I knew he was there.
And my heart told me that nothing in my life would ever be the same again.
The house answered her call at the end of the cliffhanger. Footsteps came back. A shadow was there. Silas had returned. And this time, the danger, the tension, and the forbidden desire all felt stronger, closer, and more real.