Alistair Howard loved a fixed schedule, okay? He had been teaching at St. Jude's for eight years now, and by that time, he was pretty aware that the school was running on a special type of fuel. And that was old money and silent agreements.
Alistair was a history teacher, and his choice of subject was completely logical. In contrast to the students he taught, the dead weren't demanding special treatment. They didn't expect their parents to bribe the teacher for a passing grade.
Alistair was a different person before St. Jude's, or at least he was a less tired one.
He had been a passionate young teacher at a state school in a rough neighborhood of Manchester, with a genuine intention of making a difference.
However, a few years of hard students and indifference broke his spirit. When St. Jude's sent him an offer, he accepted it for the quietness.
He got married to Claire, a woman who admired his ability to be independent, and they lived a life where a jammed printer in the staff room was the biggest problem in his life.
He was a careful man, but he was also distant and perfectly safe.
Elara Vances arrival wasn't seen as a threat to the security of that place. At the beginning, at least.
Before moving to Britain, Elara lived with her mother, Margot in a small and bright apartment in Zurich. Her mother hardly ever talked and spent most of her time just gazing at the Alps through a window.
She hadn't been the same since the "accident" at St. Judes twenty five years ago. An event the school had erased from it's memory as perfectly as a crime scene cleaner.
Elara had experienced her mother's slow illness, and she had always heard the same few words Margot spoke about when she had her moments of sanity. About a woman named Diana Halloway.
Elara didn't have friends, a social life, or hobbies. She spent her time observing people and figuring out how to pretend to be one of them until she had learned their ways so well she no longer existed as herself.
When Margot took her last breath in sleep in August, Elara was emotionless. She didn't shed a tear. She filled only one suitcase, put the furniture up for sale, and went to the school that was a testament to her mother's downfall.
It was a dark grey Monday when Elara came to work for the first time. That day, Alistair was in his study, gathering papers for his seminar of the Year 13.
"You must be Elara, " he said. He didn't smile, in fact, he barely and rarely did in the classroom.
"Back row, seat 4B. Syllabus is already there."
"Thanks, Mr. Howard, " she replied. Her voice was flat, almost without any accent. She went to the back of the room and took a seat without even bothering to glance at the other students.
Saffron Leith, whose father was a member of the boards of directors and the three largest banks in the country, turned around and studied the new girl as if she were an interesting find.
Saffrons particular cruelty was silent. She wasn't the shoving type, instead, she ensured through her subtle behavior that people she disliked were not invited to any significant events. They were simply ghosts.
"Look at that bag, " Saffron said, feigning surprise. "Is it from a vintage collection? Or just very old?"
Elara glanced at Saffron. She didn't looked upset or scared. She just gazed into Saffrons eyes for a moment longer than usual, just long enough for the other girl to blink.
"It belonged to my mother, " Elara answered flatly. After that, she took out her notebook and started to write.
Alistair was witnessing the whole thing from his desk. He felt a short flash of worry for Elara. Usually, the new girls would try to laugh along with Saffron or at least look down at their shoes. This one seemed...bored.
"Let's begin," Alistair said, tapping a pen against his palm. "We're looking at the social hierarchies of the 1920s. Page forty-two."
The lesson was carried out as usual. Elara didn't signal for the teacher's attention by raising her hand, and she didn't attempt to impress him. She simply took notes with a kind of automatic precision. When the bell sounded, she was the first one to rush out.
Alistair followed her with his eyes, confused by the relief he felt after seeing she was nothing special. He liked students who didn't make problems. He liked people who knew their limits. Who stayed in their lane.
That afternoon, he happened to see the Headmistress, Diana Halloway, coming over the quad. Diana was a woman with sharp features, always in exquisite silk scarves. She had an ability of seeing through people rather than looking at them.
"Alistair," Diana said, stopping him near the stone fountain. "How is the new girl settling in? The Vance girl?"
"Quiet," Alistair said. "A bit distant, perhaps. But she seems bright enough."
Diana nodded, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Keep an eye on her. Her mother was... difficult. It runs in the family, I suspect."
"I'm sure she'll be fine, Diana," Alistair replied, his voice back to its usual professional drone. "She hasn't said a word to anyone."
"Good," Diana said, then walked away.
Alistair went to his car, his mind preoccupied with the evening that awaited him. Claire was making roast chicken, and they'd probably chat about the weather and the upcoming faculty gala. Life was good.
He didn't notice Elara, who was hiding in the shadow of the library balcony and staring at him as he was walking to his car. She wasn't thinking about him or his class or his marriage. Her eyes were fixed on the Headmistress's office window, and her expression vacant.
She had all the time in the world.