Dad poured coffee like it was just another morning, but he kept watching me over the rim of his mug. I knew he was waiting, so I told him everything. I told him about the boy, about how Elen died during an exorcism gone wrong, and how he wasn't the monster in that room. He was a victim. A kid caught in the path of something that wanted him gone.
Dad didn't interrupt. He just listened, jaw tight.
I told him the part that bothered me most. "He said the demon isn't here anymore. He went somewhere else."
Dad set his cup down and finally spoke. "Demons don't leave without reason. They move with intention."
Breakfast went quiet after that. The kind of quiet that carries weight.
I kept replaying Elen's words in my head. Somewhere else. Not gone. Not defeated. Just waiting.
Dad didn't say it, but I could feel it in the way he looked at me.
Day two hadn't even started, and something was already following us into it.
After breakfast Dad pulled his chair closer, like this was a talk he had saved for the day I finally stepped into real work.
He said the world isn't built in layers. It is built in overlaps. Spirit, human, demon, and angel. All four exist in the same space, just tuned to different frequencies. Most people only catch one. Some of us catch more.
He told me that before humans were made, God created angels. Pure light. Pure obedience. They worshiped without question. Back then spirits wandered freely, and demons existed but kept to their own corners. Nothing fought for territory because nothing had anything to lose.
Then God made Adam and Eve.
And everything shifted.
Lucifer rebelled. Dad said it wasn't just pride. It was fear. Fear that humans would be allowed something angels never had: choice. A soul that could fall and rise again. Angels do not get that kind of freedom. Demons do not get that kind of redemption.
So Lucifer dragged others with him and broke the balance that once held the unseen world steady. Ever since, spirits get trapped, demons slip through, and angels guard only what they are allowed to, not what they want to.
Dad said this is the world we work in. A world cracked long before we were born.
I listened the whole time. And the more he spoke, the more I understood why Elen's demon didn't stay.
Creatures like that move through cracks. And the cracks are everywhere.
Dad shifted into teaching mode, the same steady tone he uses when he wants something to stick.
He said every spirit falls into two sides: good or evil. But that doesn't mean they all look or act the same. Their form changes depending on their spiritual strength. Some barely hold a shape. Some sharpen into shadows. Some learn to move objects. Some learn to talk. A few can do more.
"Power doesn't decide if they're good," Dad said. "Only intention does."
Then he brought up Elen.
"He was a poltergeist," Dad said. "Strong enough to move things. Strong enough to make noise. In rare cases strong enough to hurt someone. But poltergeists like him, the pure ones, are more lost than dangerous."
I didn't say it out loud, but I kept thinking about the way Elen held my hand, like he was scared of fading if I let go.
Dad continued, "Most people hear 'poltergeist' and think of chaos. But the chaos usually comes from the pain they died with, not from cruelty."
I nodded. It made sense. Elen didn't want to harm anyone. He just wanted someone to hear him.
Dad leaned back. "But demons? They aren't like spirits. They don't drift. They aim."
And suddenly the kitchen felt colder again, like the day wasn't done teaching me things I wasn't ready for.
Dad kept talking, and I realized he wasn't just giving me information. He was giving me a map of the things I would eventually face.
He started with Banshees.
"Most people think they predict death," he said, "but that's only in stories."
Real Banshees are the spirits of women who died in ways no one should. Crashes. Drownings. Abandonment. They cry not to curse people but because they're calling for help. Some want to see the ones they loved. Some just want their bodies found. Some want a proper burial so they can stop wandering.
Then he moved on to Doppelgangers.
"Not demons," he said. "Not shapeshifters. Just spirits who seek out people who resemble them."
They watch the lives that look like the one they never had the chance to finish. It isn't malice. It's longing. A comparison they can't stop making.
Revenants came next. Spirits bound to anger.
"They don't hunt random people," Dad said. "They hunt the ones responsible."
Wrongful deaths. Betrayal. Murder. They chase justice with a focus sharper than most humans ever manage.
Then he explained Wraiths.
They aren't violent by default. They aren't peaceful either. They're stuck between.
"Wraiths are spirits with unfinished purpose, but not always revenge," Dad said. "Sometimes it's a message. Sometimes it's a last word they never got to say. Sometimes they don't even know what they're missing, only that something is still pulling at them."
I took notes even though he didn't ask me to. It felt important. Every type had a story behind it, and every story had a wound.
What scared me wasn't the list.
What scared me was realizing Elen didn't fit neatly into any of them.
And Dad knew that too.
I asked him about demons next, because after everything with Elen, I needed to understand what we were really dealing with.
Dad shut that down right away.
"That lesson is for another day," he said, and he closed the old book he had been reading from. The sound was final, like a door locking.
He looked at me for a long moment. Not as a teacher. Not as a priest. As my dad.
"Why did you choose this path?" he asked.
I opened my mouth, ready to say something about helping him, or learning the truth, or wanting to protect people. But before I got a word out, he raised a hand.
"Don't say it yet. Just remember it."
He tapped his chest.
"This job isn't about hunting monsters. It's about helping both sides. Humans and spirits. Never forget that both are alive. One in a body. One in the astral."
He let the silence sit for a bit before continuing.
"If you lose your reason for doing this, you lose the part of you that makes you good at it. Motif matters. Motivation matters. They keep you steady when fear tries to rewrite your judgment."
I didn't answer. Not because I didn't want to, but because I was still figuring out what my reason really was.
All I knew for sure was that Elen deserved someone who could hear him.
Maybe that was enough for now.