Chapter 106: The Fall Festival, Part Twenty-One

Chapter 106: Chapter 106: The Fall Festival, Part Twenty-One

Chapter 106: The Fall Festival, Part Twenty-One

That evening at the Sloane estate, Audra lay folded over the desk in her bedroom, staring at the small black box in front of her.

She had changed into a plain white dress after returning home. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, and none of her usual composure remained. Anyone who knew her from school would have struggled to match the cool, self-possessed Audra Sloane with the girl resting her cheek against one arm while glaring helplessly at a closed box.

The glamourkin ring was inside.

Putting it away should have ended the problem.

Instead, the nurse’s office kept replaying in her head.

She remembered locking the door. She remembered raising the ring and watching Cyrus’s awareness disappear. She remembered the first boundary she crossed, then the next, and the terrible ease with which one impulse had turned into another.

A humiliating part of her even wondered why she had wasted so much time lingering over the first stolen contact instead of moving directly toward what she had nearly attempted.

The thought sent heat into her face.

Audra touched her lower lip before realizing what she was doing. The memory carried a cool sweetness that reminded her of chilled custard, and that comparison only made her feel more unhinged.

She pulled her hand away.

What would Cyrus think of her now?

He had already been wary of her. After today, he might decide she was exactly the type of woman he had spent months avoiding. If he saw her as shameless, predatory, or unstable, how was she supposed to become someone he genuinely valued?

"No, that cannot be right," Audra muttered.

She stood so quickly that the chair scraped against the floor, then shook her head as though the motion could throw every unwanted image out through her ears.

It did not work.

Her attention returned to the black box.

A tired breath left her.

The ring was supposed to control other people. In practice, it seemed far better at controlling her.

Audra had used it enough times to recognize the pattern. A passing thought never stayed small once the pink stone became involved. Curiosity sharpened into fixation. Jealousy became anger. A private impulse gained weight until acting on it felt natural, then necessary.

The effect was strongest whenever Cyrus was involved.

Before finding the ring, she had already been bothered by his indifference. He treated her beauty, status, and attention as though none of them carried much value. That bruised her pride and made her want to prove he was wrong.

Those feelings had belonged to her.

The ring had not created them.

After she began using it, however, every brief thought seemed to swell beyond proportion. Wanting him to notice her became a need to force his attention. Wondering what he hid became a reason to strip away his choices. Jealous irritation over Faye or Daphne became something far uglier.

The artifact had accelerated everything.

Audra could blame the ring for magnifying her impulses, but she could no longer pretend those impulses came from nowhere. The selfishness underneath them was hers.

At some point, she had started wanting Cyrus to look at her seriously.

Not because she was Audra Sloane. Not because everyone else admired her. She wanted his attention because it was his, and because he kept giving warmth to other people while remaining guarded with her.

That truth made the box feel heavier than it was.

Audra rested both hands on the desk and studied the lid.

She could not use the ring again.

Perhaps putting it away was not enough. If the artifact kept turning her worst thoughts into action, she might need to destroy it before another moment of weakness gave her an excuse to open the box.

The following morning marked the final day of St. Alder’s Fall Festival.

Cyrus stepped out of apartment 203 and found Daphne waiting in the hallway.

She wore a fitted professional outfit suitable for the public festival day, and two food containers were stacked in her hands. Her expression brightened the instant his door opened.

"Breakfast is in the top container, and lunch is packed underneath it."

Cyrus stopped with one hand still on the doorknob.

He had tried leaving early enough to avoid her. Apparently, Daphne had adjusted.

Meeting her in the morning was not automatically bad. She brought food, and the food was usually excellent. The uncomfortable part was how completely she had started arranging his meals. Breakfast appeared before school, lunch arrived in a container, and dinner waited whenever he returned.

Anyone watching might assume Cyrus held some devastating secret over her.

That assumption would not be entirely wrong.

Even so, he had never demanded three meals a day. Daphne had offered the rent refund herself, and everything beyond dinner had been her decision.

Her fixation on Cory remained her own problem.

Cyrus accepted the containers without speaking. Wasting good food would have been irresponsible, especially when refusing it would not make Daphne less interested.

"I can drive you to school," she added. "The parking lot will be crowded today."

"No, thank you. I would rather walk."

Daphne did not argue.

Cyrus headed toward the stairs at an easy pace, carrying the food in one hand. He felt her watching until he disappeared around the landing.

The eagerness in Daphne’s face faded.

She waited until the stairwell door shut, then glanced along the empty hall. Her hand slipped into her bag and emerged holding the landlord’s spare key ring.

Several keys hung from it.

Daphne selected one and inserted it into the lock of apartment 203.

The fit was perfect.

She did not turn it.

There was no need to test further. The key belonged to Cyrus’s door, and a single twist would open the apartment whenever she chose.

Today was not the right time.

Daphne withdrew the key and let it rest across her palm. The possibilities attached to it brought the heat back into her expression.

Cyrus had discovered a way to keep her at a distance with the personal safety alarm. He had also learned that transforming into Cory, sitting in her apartment, and then denying her any closeness gave him complete control of the situation.

He could keep doing that only while every door remained his to manage.

If he refused to give her access, she could eventually create another route.

Daphne returned the key to her bag and headed downstairs.

The third festival day carried a more serious mood than the first two.

St. Alder had opened the campus to outside guests. Families, community visitors, and students from nearby schools streamed through the gates alongside the academy’s own students. The school’s reputation meant people had arrived early, and every classroom wanted its activity to look polished.

A sloppy display would not stay private among classmates. It could become a story carried home by parents or repeated at another school by Monday.

Ms. Hart gathered Classroom Three in the hallway before the public opening.

She reviewed safety rules, reminded everyone which doors had to remain clear, and warned students not to abandon assigned stations without finding a replacement. The haunted house needed extra attention because its curtains, dark lighting, and temporary walls created more risks than the ordinary game booths.

Cyrus stood among the others and listened with only part of his attention.

A night in his cold apartment had done most of what he expected. His ankle was not completely healed, but the swelling had dropped and the pain had faded enough that he could walk normally. As long as he avoided sprinting for another day, Helena would not have to notice anything during their tour.

She had messaged before he left home and said she would arrive soon.

Cyrus still did not know what kind of inspiration Helena hoped to find at a school festival. Perhaps she wrote, designed clothes, or worked on something else she had never discussed with him.

The details did not matter.

Walking around alone and walking around with Helena required roughly the same effort. She had helped him often enough that showing her around St. Alder was a minor favor.

A prickling awareness drew his attention sideways.

Beyond the main cluster of students, Audra had been watching him.

Their attention met for an instant.

Audra turned her head, stepped backward into the crowd, and placed two classmates between them until Cyrus could no longer see her.

Cyrus resisted the urge to sigh.

If she knew the situation was embarrassing, she should have considered that before using a mind-control artifact on him in a locked nurse’s office.

He still needed to speak with her.

The conversation could wait until after Helena finished gathering whatever material she wanted. Cyrus wanted answers about the glamourkin ring, and he would not let Audra avoid him forever.

For now, he put the matter aside.

Ms. Hart dismissed the group, and Classroom Three began preparing for the day. Students checked props, replaced damaged decorations, counted tickets, and tested the sound effects inside the haunted house.

Cyrus had no immediate assignment.

He was preparing to slip toward the empty fourth-floor classroom when he noticed Owen speaking with Faye. Their conversation did not last long. Faye nodded, then headed toward the other end of the hall while Owen came directly toward Cyrus with a clipboard.

"Could you and Faye cover the afternoon entrance shift?"

"That works for me."

Cyrus glanced toward Faye’s retreating figure. Helena would arrive soon, and several hours remained before the afternoon rotation. The school tour should be finished by then.

Even if it ran long, he could explain the schedule to Helena. She was unlikely to object to him fulfilling a class responsibility.

Owen marked something on the clipboard.

Then he lowered it and studied Cyrus with an oddly serious expression.

"Cyrus, I have one question."

"What are you asking?"

"Which matters more to you, making money or finding someone to date?"

Cyrus almost answered money.

Then a better option occurred to him.

"Why would I date a person when I could date money instead?"

Owen stared at him.

The pause lasted long enough for Cyrus to wonder whether he had phrased the thought too honestly.

Then Owen burst out laughing.

"That answer fits you perfectly."

His laughter drew a few curious glances from nearby students. Nobody cared enough to ask what they were discussing, and Owen only waved before walking away with the clipboard tucked under his arm.

Cyrus’s phone vibrated.

Helena had sent a message saying she was almost at the front gate.

He put the phone away, then sensed someone watching him again.

Iris had joined Owen near the classroom entrance.

She stood beside him with her glasses catching the hallway light, but her attention rested on Cyrus rather than the clipboard. The expression on her face was difficult to place.

Their attention met.

Iris turned away first.

Cyrus remained where he was, uncertain what he had seen.

Was that hostility?