Chapter 107: The Fall Festival, Part Twenty-Two

Chapter 107: Chapter 107: The Fall Festival, Part Twenty-Two

Chapter 107: The Fall Festival, Part Twenty-Two

Outside St. Alder’s front gates, volunteers had begun checking in families, community guests, and students visiting from other schools. Everyone without a St. Alder ID had to sign the guest sheet, accept a paper wristband, and wait for the security table to clear them before entering campus.

Up on the fourth floor, the door of an unused classroom opened.

Cyrus stepped into the hallway in a different set of clothes.

He had changed out of his St. Alder uniform and fixed his hair, uncovering the face he normally reserved for The Full Moon Lounge. The clean casual outfit made him look like a student visiting from another private school, which was exactly what he wanted on a day crowded with outsiders.

Most people passing through the hall paid him no attention at first.

Then two girls looked up, caught sight of his face, and forgot the conversation they had been having. By the time either recovered enough to speak, Cyrus had already turned into the stairwell and disappeared below.

His phone vibrated as he reached the ground floor.

Helena: I am in the registration line. I should be through soon.

Cyrus: I will wait by the gate.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and stopped near the inside edge of the entrance plaza.

Waiting turned out to be more troublesome than expected.

With his hair styled and his face uncovered, he had nowhere to hide from the steady stream of visitors. During the few minutes Helena spent in line, the number of women who approached him for his contact information passed five. Cyrus refused each one without giving enough conversation for the next person to mistake politeness for encouragement.

Another volunteer walked toward him before Helena appeared.

The girl wore a bright festival vest over her uniform and carried a stack of extra wristbands. Her puzzled expression did not match the way her attention stayed fixed on him.

"Excuse me, are you a student here at St. Alder?"

Cyrus lifted his eyes toward her but gave no answer.

He had expected this problem. His school disguise worked because his bangs, posture, and uniform made him blend into a familiar classroom role. Remove those things, and even students who passed him every day could fail to connect the two versions.

The volunteer’s face warmed when he looked at her.

"Could you tell me which school you came from?"

Cyrus walked past her before she finished.

A new guest had entered through the gate.

Helena wore a short capelet over a fitted outfit, and a little makeup sharpened the elegance of her features without making her look overdressed for a school event. Her light, chin-length hair moved when she turned away from the registration table. Several people nearby followed her with open curiosity, though Helena seemed accustomed to that kind of attention.

Cyrus approached her.

"Helena, you made it."

"I finally cleared the line," she said. "Let us start walking."

Cyrus nodded and led her toward the academic building.

The volunteer remained behind them with the question still unfinished.

Together, Cyrus and Helena drew even more attention than either had alone. People who had stared at Helena noticed the young man joining her. Students who had been watching Cyrus began wondering who the elegant visitor was. A few phones lifted, then lowered again when their owners realized taking pictures of strangers at close range would be difficult to excuse.

Helena glanced at Cyrus as they crossed the courtyard.

This was the first time she had seen how he presented himself at school, or at least how he could present himself when he chose not to hide. Malcolm had handled most of the practical arrangements when Cyrus needed help enrolling, while Helena’s own contact with him had remained centered on the lounge and the apartment.

She was used to seeing him behind the bar.

The school setting changed him.

His clothes carried a younger, more relaxed edge than his work attire, while his composed face made the contrast unexpectedly effective. He looked like someone who belonged in the center of campus attention, even though Helena knew he spent most school days doing everything possible to avoid it.

The sight loosened several ideas that had been stuck in her head for weeks.

Her serialized project had reached a difficult stretch at the same time her academic paper demanded more work. She had come to St. Alder looking for material because sitting at home and forcing herself through the same stalled pages had produced nothing useful.

A scene that had refused to move for days began rearranging itself while she watched him.

Helena studied the cut of his jacket and the way the fabric sat across his shoulders. Nothing about the outfit was bad, but it felt too generic once she looked closely. Better clothes would frame him without making him look dressed by someone else.

A custom piece might solve that.

Cyrus noticed her attention but did not ask about it.

Visitors watched them wherever they went, though walking as a pair kept most people from approaching. Anyone considering asking Cyrus for his number seemed to assume Helena might be his girlfriend, older sister, or someone else with enough standing to make an interruption awkward.

Cyrus had no reason to correct them.

The public festival day also made his uncovered appearance safer. Teachers and students saw unfamiliar faces everywhere, and anyone who noticed him would likely assume he belonged to another school.

Only a few people at St. Alder knew enough to question that conclusion.

Daphne already knew both versions of him. Audra had seen through the disguise, and Owen had caught enough glimpses to understand that Cyrus hid more than his eyes. None of them had a reason to expose him in the middle of a crowded festival.

Cyrus led Helena through the first academic building.

They tried a floating-prize scoop game in one classroom, shared a bag of thin waffle cookies in another, and stopped at a cork-rifle gallery where Helena missed the smallest target by less than an inch. A bake-sale table offered miniature cupcakes, and Cyrus bought two even though Daphne’s lunch container was still in his bag.

He had visited several of the same activities during the previous two days. Repeating them with Helena remained enjoyable.

Neither of them talked more than necessary.

Helena did not explain what kind of inspiration she wanted, and Cyrus did not ask. She accepted every booth he suggested, watched the costumes and classroom layouts with real interest, and occasionally paused to note something on her phone.

That was enough proof that his tour was useful.

After circling a large portion of the building, Cyrus decided he had completed at least half of his responsibility.

They entered a classroom transformed into a vintage parlor café.

Cyrus had visited it the day before, but the students had improved the setup for public guests. Dark fabric covered the classroom walls, paper sconces softened the overhead lights, and the desks had been arranged into small tables with printed menus.

A male student approached after they sat down.

His costume consisted of a tailored black tailcoat, a crisp vest, and white gloves. The outfit fit the old hotel theme without looking cheap. Several girls working the other tables wore matching black-and-white service dresses with patterned trim along the skirts.

Cyrus studied the details while the student stopped beside Helena.

"Good morning, ma’am. What would you like to order?"

Helena’s attention remained on the tailcoat for a few seconds.

Cyrus could not tell whether she was studying the student or the costume.

The young server straightened under her attention and offered a polished smile that had probably been practiced before the café opened.

Helena accepted the menu, then turned toward Cyrus.

"What would you like to drink?"

"You can choose for me," Cyrus said.

Her attention stayed on him.

The server’s practiced smile weakened slightly, though he recovered before it became openly rude.

Helena ordered two drinks and returned the menu. While they waited, she continued studying Cyrus with the same unhurried concentration.

The tailcoat would suit him.

No, the student version would not be good enough. Cyrus needed one made to his measurements, with cleaner lines and better fabric. A formal service look would preserve his reserved quality while making customers feel as though his attention had to be earned.

That image could solve one of the scenes she had been struggling to write.

Across the table, Cyrus let her watch.

Helena’s attention had never carried the same hunger he noticed from certain lounge customers. She looked at him the way someone studied a painting, a costume, or a problem she intended to understand. He found it unusual, but not threatening.

After several minutes, Helena leaned back.

"Are you not curious why I keep staring at you?"

"I have noticed it," Cyrus said. "I do not mind very much."

"You are behaving well today."

Before Cyrus could decide what that meant, Helena reached across the table and rested her hand on his head. She smoothed his hair once, then gave it a light, affectionate ruffle.

Her palm was warm against his naturally cool skin.

The contact felt unexpectedly comfortable.

Cyrus gave her a resigned look instead of moving away. Helena withdrew her hand and smiled, clearly pleased with whatever idea had settled in her mind.

Behind the fabric screen used as the café’s service area, hushed arguing broke out.

"It is my turn to serve them. You already went out there."

"I took their order, so I should bring it back."

The dispute ended before either voice grew loud enough to attract the whole room.

A different student emerged carrying a tray.

She wore one of the matching period service dresses and approached their table with a confident smile. After setting down the two drinks, she looked between Helena and Cyrus without attempting to hide her interest.

"Could I ask both of you for a picture?"

Cyrus had not opened his mouth when Helena answered.

"We can take one with you."

The student brightened and called the male server over to handle her phone. His expression became complicated when she positioned herself between them, but he raised the camera and did his job.

Cyrus stood on one side of her, Helena on the other.

The student thanked them several times after checking the picture.

Cyrus found her boldness impressive. Plenty of people hesitated until an opportunity passed, but some simply asked for what they wanted and accepted the answer.

When Cyrus and Helena left the café, the previously quiet hallway began filling near its entrance. Several students who had seen them inside joined the line, and curious visitors followed without knowing exactly why the room had suddenly become popular.

Helena glanced back once before continuing.

"What did your class prepare?"

"We built a haunted house."

"Then you should show it to me later."

Cyrus hesitated before answering.

Helena waited without pressing.

"I can take you there," he said.

A haunted house made from cardboard walls, recorded screams, and classmates hiding behind curtains did not deserve this much interest. Cyrus would rather spend the time throwing darts or trying the cork-rifle gallery again.

He guided Helena along a longer corridor that happened to pass the dart booth first.

They had nearly reached the next turn when a striking figure stepped into the corridor and stopped directly in their path.