Ezra and the student ran down the corridors, not stopping before the pained groans were far behind them. The shaggy-haired, slightly malnourished-looking boy looked at Ezra with near reverence, as if he couldn’t believe that he was just saved from a situation that had seemed hopeless. It looked like he was going to thank Ezra any second now, caught between wanting to approach him by just a few steps more but also wanting to check the corner they had just made for any unwanted participants.

Instead of simply giving him a heartfelt ‘thank you,’ however, the student who very, very shortly threw his name out into the world,

“Lyle, by the way.”

said this:

“Am... Am I overthinking it, or was that explosion really ridiculous?”

Lyle, who then shortly realized that this wasn’t the time or place for questioning the dynamics at work, began to scratch at his own neck.

“More ridiculous than actual monsters?!” Ezra retorted, though admittedly, he himself was taken aback by the effectiveness of his rescue as well, but more so because of the absence of any pursuers.

“I mean, for flour to have that much of a reaction, there has to be a very specific amount of dust in the air, not to mention—” Reinvigorated by Ezra’s statement, Lyle began his tirade, stopping when Ezra threw him a quick look of what he registered as annoyance.

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“S-sorry” followed by a shy look to the ground.

Ezra shook his head, but not in dismissal, but rather as a means to ease Lyle’s mind.

“What for?” He said, trying to dismiss any ill will. “If that’s the sort of thing you worry about instead of potentially dying, you probably know what you’re doing.”

Lyle really took a liking to that; it was a simple form of praise. Simple, with a hint of questioning one’s sanity. Very endearing in its own way.

Yet, it did little to change one thing that had been bothering Lyle from the moment he actually talked to Ezra. Something wasn’t right about him. Moving forward, there had been very slight peculiarities that didn’t let Lyle relax around Ezra. Lyle had been saved; it was out of the question, and he was thankful… and yet, that pressing feeling on the back of his head, like a finger hovering just inches away but not quite touching.

It was an easy lie aimed at himself: ‘I’m just under stress. The guy looks a little bit on the ghostly side, but come on… he isn’t bad.’

But deep down, Lyle knew. His instinct was trying to get him away from Ezra. Something just wasn’t right about him.

It wasn’t just the fact that his black hair and the corpse-like complexion didn’t do him any favours. It was the way he, from one moment to the next, seemed to stalk along the hallway, soundless, predatory. It was the way he angled his hands at his sides, the slight bending of his arms and legs, as if he was preparing to pounce on the next thing he laid eyes on.

His awareness peaked when he caught himself breathing loudly, the stress and anticipation taking its toll. And yet amongst all this, what seemed to make his heart beat loudest was the complete silence from Ezra, as if he wasn’t breathing at all.

Even with the occasional look from him to see if Lyle was still with him, the question still remained the same: Just who was he a danger to?