The truth is, she doesn't need to explain, and he doesn't really want her to. A part of him thinks he should try to talk to her again to break the silence--a silence that was quickly becoming thick, nearly claustrophobic, or was that his own anxiety?--but he can't even summon up a sound.

It's a little frustrating, really, as it almost feels like someone is staring at him, waiting for him to say something, or to slip up. A clawing at the back of his mind, doubts begin to nag at him again. Was she only saying things like this in order to get this sort of reaction from him? It didn't seem like the Gwen he knew, and he had to remind himself that she didn't know.

But every time before she knew. The fake and the one who had been here in person. The first had recognized him even in this new body, and the second had already known. He stares up at the painted stars above instead of looking over at her, suddenly unsure of himself, and of the entire situation.

But he had seen her post on the journals, hadn't he? Laharl had said it himself when she had appeared the second time: hallucinations cannot make those sorts of entries. ...Can they?

Whispers in the background send a shiver up his spine. He barely notices when the train arrives and boards without a word.