Chapter 101: The Fall Festival, Part Sixteen

Chapter 101: Chapter 101: The Fall Festival, Part Sixteen

Chapter 101: The Fall Festival, Part Sixteen

Cyrus narrowed his eyes at the figure under the streetlight.

The person had appeared too suddenly.

One moment, the sidewalk ahead was empty except for the pale spill of light on the pavement. The next, someone stood beneath it, facing him from a few yards away.

At least it was a person.

That made the situation better than whatever his nerves had been inventing for the past few hours.

The figure noticed him and turned fully, then began walking toward him at an unhurried pace.

When the face came into view, Cyrus felt more surprise than relief.

Daphne Whitlock.

Why was she here at this hour?

The answer followed almost immediately.

Considering the way Daphne had acted since moving next door, running into her on his walk home was not even the strangest thing she had done this month. A normal person might have been out for a walk, buying something from a corner store, or returning from campus.

Daphne was not a normal person.

Cyrus slipped one hand toward his bag and patted the side pocket where the personal safety alarm rested.

It was still there.

The smooth plastic shape gave him a little confidence.

For a moment, he considered taking it out and pulling the pin right away. The street was quiet, and a sudden alarm would bring attention from the nearest apartment windows or passing cars. Daphne could overpower him, but she could not stop sound from spreading once it began.

Then he thought about the past few days.

He had not eaten much convenience-store food lately because Daphne kept bringing meals. She had continued feeding him, even when he refused to make it easy for her. That did not make her safe, but it did mean he could give her one chance before escalating.

One chance.

If she tried anything, Cyrus wished her a happy future explaining herself to the police.

Daphne stopped several steps away.

She looked at his guarded posture and clicked her tongue softly in her heart.

All that food had barely lowered his defenses.

That was disappointing.

She had been making breakfast, lunch, and dinner often enough that he should have softened at least a little. Instead, his first instinct was still to check for the alarm.

Daphne tried not to stare at the bag.

Earlier, she had seen something unexpected.

"Your service job is at a bar?" she asked.

Cyrus looked at her.

"You followed me?"

"I noticed by chance."

"By chance," Cyrus repeated.

He did not bother arguing about it.

His job had never been a perfect secret. Lies carried the risk of discovery, especially when someone lived next door, taught at his school, and apparently had enough free time to show up in the middle of his route home.

Besides, this was Daphne.

Even when he was not fully in the right, he could usually make her look worse if the situation became public.

Cyrus walked past her with careful distance.

Daphne turned and followed.

"Places like that are not suitable for a student," she said.

"It pays."

His answer was light.

His attention stayed behind him.

Most people heard the word bar and imagined noise, drunk customers, bad decisions, and trouble. The Full Moon Lounge was quieter than that, and Cyrus worked honestly behind the counter. He made drinks, cleaned, took orders, and left when his shift was over.

If anything, the customers were the problem.

They kept casting fishing lines with smiles, compliments, and tips, then looking disappointed when he refused to bite.

At least Detective Rhea Maddox had not appeared lately.

That had saved him plenty of energy.

Daphne walked a few steps behind him.

The silence stretched.

She watched his back, then thought about how he had looked when he left the lounge.

His hair had been styled properly. His face had not been hidden. He had come out looking like the version of himself he never showed at school, the version that made strangers pause and regulars return.

That meant he worked like that inside.

It meant he allowed customers to watch him.

He let them sit there, drink in hand, looking at him as though they had paid for the right to enjoy the view.

Daphne’s mood worsened.

If Cyrus had not been coming home every night, she might have imagined far more unpleasant things.

Why was she not a witch from some old story?

If she had a convenient spell, she could put a small charm on him and make him listen. She would not need to worry about laws, witnesses, alarms, neighbors, or the distance he kept between them.

He would come home when told.

He would eat what she made.

He would stop looking at the world as if every open door belonged to someone else.

Daphne sighed inwardly.

Reality was unfair.

Their apartment building came into view.

The windows on the upper floors glowed in scattered patches. Most residents were already home, and the front steps were empty except for a few fallen leaves caught against the railing.

Daphne spoke again.

"What do you want for dinner tomorrow?"

"Whatever you make."

Cyrus did not look back.

He did not bother changing his hair on the way home either. Since Daphne had already seen his lounge appearance tonight, there was no point doing extra work for her benefit. He let her trail behind him while keeping enough attention on her footsteps to react if she suddenly moved too close.

They reached the building entrance.

Before going in, Cyrus turned and looked down the street behind them.

The sidewalk was quiet.

The shadows between the streetlights revealed nothing. A parked car sat near the curb. A trash bin leaned against a fence. Farther away, a porch light flickered above a narrow doorway.

No one stood there.

Daphne followed his line of sight.

"What is wrong?"

"Nothing serious."

Cyrus turned back and entered the building.

They climbed the stairs together and stopped outside their neighboring apartment doors.

Daphne’s unit sat beside his, close enough that even the hallway felt like shared territory now. Cyrus hated that part most. His apartment had once been a small, plain, imperfect space that belonged to him. Daphne moving next door had changed the meaning of every sound beyond the wall.

Cyrus reached for his keys.

Daphne still felt unwilling to let him disappear.

"Do you want to come over for dinner?" she asked.

"The usual arrangement is fine."

He unlocked his door.

Meals were acceptable.

Everything else could stay outside the line.

Daphne watched him push the door open.

"If you come over to eat, I will refund the rent," she said. "The condition is that you change into Cory."

Cyrus paused.

The hallway became quiet.

Then he slowly turned toward her.

Daphne held his attention without blinking, though she was much less calm inside than she looked. She knew the offer was shameless. She also knew that rent mattered to him enough to make him consider almost anything that did not immediately threaten his safety.

Cyrus’s eyes changed.

The guarded flatness gave way to a faint amusement that made Daphne’s stomach tighten.

He had not planned to be that mean tonight.

She had asked for it.

"Fine," Cyrus said. "Wait here."

Daphne stared at him.

He entered his apartment and shut the door.

For a few seconds, she stood in the hallway without moving.

Had he agreed?

He had actually agreed.

Daphne pressed her lips together and tried not to look too pleased.

The door opened again.

Cory stood there.

White hair framed the smaller version of Cyrus’s face, and his clothes had changed into something loose enough to fit the childlike form without dragging dangerously. His expression looked almost obedient at first glance.

Then Daphne saw the yellow personal safety alarm in his hand.

Of course.

He walked past her into her apartment with the alarm held openly, as though it were part of his outfit.

Daphne followed him inside and shut the door without locking it.

Cory looked around the room.

The apartment smelled faintly of cleaning spray and the meal ingredients Daphne had not yet used. The kitchen counter was empty except for a cutting board, a few covered containers, and her phone.

"You have not cooked yet?" Cory asked.

"I was going to start now."

"That works out," Cory said. "Order KFC."

Daphne froze.

"I can make dinner."

Cory did not answer.

He looked at Daphne.

Then he looked down at the alarm in his hand.

His thumb rested near the pin.

Daphne took one step back.

"I will order it now."

She pulled out her phone.

This was wrong.

The whole point should have been feeding him something she made with her own hands. She had imagined him sitting at her table, eating quietly, warming into compliance one bite at a time. Ordering fast food defeated the atmosphere completely.

But Cory had requested it.

That made it different.

Fulfilling his request was still a form of care.

Daphne opened the delivery app while telling herself that fried chicken counted as dinner.

Cory climbed onto the edge of the couch and sat with the personal alarm in his lap.

"Remember the rent refund."

Daphne’s fingers paused above the phone screen.

"Did you not agree to come here as Cory?"

"I am here."

"You have to let me hold you."

Cory tilted his head.

The confusion on his face looked almost real.

He seemed genuinely surprised that she still dared to add conditions.

Had she always been this brave?

Daphne watched him spread his arms.

His smile was sweet enough to make her forget the situation for half a heartbeat. Then his voice arrived with a coldness that did not match the childlike form at all.

"Come try it."

Daphne’s entire body wanted to move.

One step would be enough.

She could cross the room, gather him into her arms, and hold him before he had time to pull away. He was small right now. He looked light enough to lift easily, and the smile on his face made the urge almost painful.

The alarm stopped her.

That object in his hand was not plastic and circuitry anymore.

It was her future.

If it screamed through the apartment, neighbors would come out. Someone might call the police. If Cyrus changed back or explained even part of the truth badly enough, Daphne would not be a concerned teacher or a helpful neighbor.

She would be the adult woman caught alone with a hidden, childlike boy in her apartment after threatening him with housing leverage.

The thought cooled her faster than any warning could have.

Daphne did not move.

Cory lowered his arms.

"You are not holding me?" he asked. "Then refund the rent anyway. Two months of it. Hurry up."

Daphne stared at his small, openly wicked face.

She was angry.

She was also, unwillingly, a little happy.

This version of him was terrible. He knew exactly what he was doing. He sat there with the alarm like a tiny hostage negotiator and gave orders as though she had invited him over to be bullied in her own living room.

Daphne hated how much she liked seeing him act that way.

Her thumb moved across the phone screen.

"Fine," she said. "I will send it."

Cory watched her closely.

While she opened her banking app, he felt a small knot of hesitation settle in his own chest.

He did not actually enjoy threatening people.

At least, he did not want to become the kind of person who reached for leverage first and thought about it later.

But Daphne had asked for this.

If he had not thought of the alarm, the past few weeks might have gone very differently. She had strength, surveillance, the apartment next door, and enough shamelessness to turn his rent into a bargaining chip. If he did not push back now, she would only press further next time.

The alarm was important.

Possibly one of the most important things he owned.

Daphne confirmed the transfer with a sour expression.

Cory checked the amount.

Two months of rent.

The number on the screen made his mood improve.

He gave the alarm a small, affectionate pat.

Deep outside the apartment building, someone stood in the dark.

A fox mask covered her face.

Audra kept to the side of the street, just beyond the range of the nearest security camera. Whether she had chosen the blind spot consciously or by instinct, she stood where the building’s small camera above the entrance could not quite catch her.

Her attention remained on the third-floor window.

Only one apartment light was on.

Cyrus had gone inside with Daphne Whitlock.

Audra had followed from a distance, first from St. Alder to the lounge, then from the lounge to the apartment building. She had not planned to follow this far at the beginning. She had only wanted to know where he went, who he met, and why he kept slipping away whenever she tried to understand him.

Now she understood even less.

Cyrus had secrets everywhere.

He had the lounge, where he worked with his face uncovered.

He had Daphne, who waited for him at night and walked home with him as though she had the right.

He had Faye, who could hold his hand without being pushed away.

He had customers who looked at him across a bar.

He had a life Audra knew only in fragments, even though she held a ring that should have made answers easy.

That was the most infuriating part.

The glamourkin ring could bend a person’s will, strip away hesitation, and make Cyrus answer questions he would never answer awake. Yet Audra still did not understand why he ignored her so easily.

With others, he behaved differently.

He accepted Faye’s closeness.

He accepted Daphne’s food.

He accepted the lounge customers’ attention enough to keep working there.

With Audra, he kept retreating.

That was wrong.

Audra had lost to no one.

She was not less beautiful than Faye. She was not less useful than Daphne. She was not less capable than any stranger sitting at a bar hoping Cyrus would look their way.

Maybe she had approached him incorrectly.

Maybe trying to earn his attention in front of him had been the problem.

Maybe he did not respond to gentleness.

The thought moved through her slowly.

The hand wearing the glamourkin ring tightened into a fist.

In the deep night, the pink stone began to glow more vividly than before.