Chapter 109: The Fall Festival, Part Twenty-Four

Chapter 109: Chapter 109: The Fall Festival, Part Twenty-Four

Chapter 109: The Fall Festival, Part Twenty-Four

"That was a good story," Helena said after they left Classroom Three.

Cyrus walked beside her toward the front gates and gave a light nod.

The haunted house did have a script. He had known that from the beginning, even if the details were difficult to follow while fake limbs, audio cues, and classmates hiding behind curtains kept interrupting the route. A person who paid proper attention could probably piece together the story of an experiment, a victim, a body preserved behind glass, and the people who had failed to stop it.

Cyrus had understood enough.

Anyone who still thought the haunted house was random probably had not been trying.

The school gates came into view beyond the courtyard. Public visitors continued entering in waves, though the morning rush had eased. Volunteers stood near the registration tables, handing out wristbands and reminding guests which areas were closed to the public.

Helena looked at him as they walked.

"Do you usually go through school looking like this?"

Cyrus paused before answering.

He glanced around to confirm no one stood close enough to hear, then stepped nearer and lowered his voice beside her ear.

"At school, I usually hide my face with my hair."

He did not see a reason to conceal that from Helena. The Baird family already knew more about his situation than most people, and Helena had seen both his school and lounge sides now.

Helena stopped.

Cyrus turned back with a little confusion.

Her face had angled away, making her expression difficult to read. One hand rose near her ear, then lowered before actually touching it.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing is wrong."

When Helena faced him again, her composure had returned.

"The hair works," she said. "It probably saves you a lot of trouble."

"It really does."

Cyrus agreed from the heart.

They reached the gate a minute later.

"I still have a shift for my class," Cyrus said. "I will not walk you all the way to your car."

"That is fine. You already showed me plenty."

Helena adjusted the strap of her bag and gave him a small smile.

"I will see you Monday."

"I will see you Monday."

Helena left without looking back.

Cyrus watched until she reached the visitor parking area, then turned toward the academic building.

Helena did not start the car right away.

Inside the parked vehicle, she sat with both hands on the wheel and stared through the windshield for several seconds. Then she lifted one hand and covered the ear Cyrus had spoken near.

Color spread from her ear to her cheek.

"That was a little sudden," she murmured.

No one else was there to see the expression that crossed her face. The refined calm she usually carried had given way to something warmer and far less guarded.

Her thoughts returned to the glass coffin in the haunted house.

The image had been crude because students had built it from cheap materials, but the effect had worked. A beautiful figure locked behind glass, preserved for viewing, separated from the reach of the room.

Perhaps she could prepare something like that.

Not for the school festival, of course.

Helena’s attention drifted back toward the gate before she finally started the car.

Cyrus’s return to the academic building went smoothly.

Several women attempted to approach him along the way. One asked which school he attended. Another held up her phone before gathering the courage to speak. Cyrus ignored each attempt with the same calm indifference until the women stopped in place, embarrassed and disappointed.

That result was exactly what he wanted.

Looking too approachable created work. A person had to answer questions, refuse phone numbers, invent reasons, and escape conversations without appearing rude enough to cause a scene.

Looking difficult saved time.

By the time Cyrus reached the fourth-floor classroom, he had proven that point several times.

He changed back into his St. Alder uniform, lowered his bangs, and adjusted his posture until the person in the mirror looked like the gloomy student who belonged in Classroom Three. The contrast was strong enough that even he found it useful.

Only ten or so minutes remained before his shift with Faye.

On the way downstairs, Cyrus passed the classroom selling bottled drinks and bought two. The drinks were sweet, cold, and surprisingly well made for something prepared by students in a classroom with folding tables and coolers.

He carried one in each hand to the hallway outside Classroom Three.

The haunted-house line had shortened since earlier, though new visitors still joined the end. A few had probably come after hearing about the white figure behind glass. Others had followed the line simply because a long queue made an activity look worth trying.

Faye was already at the entrance table.

She sat alone behind the cash box with her hands folded near the tickets. Her bangs shadowed her face, and her posture carried the same quiet patience she showed in class. From a distance, she looked calm.

She also looked lonely.

Cyrus slowed slightly.

Stories about school bullying existed everywhere, and he had heard enough of them to understand the pattern. Students who seemed easy to push around often became targets. Someone gloomy, quiet, and isolated could disappear into the background until other people decided that background was a convenient place to throw things.

People like him.

People like Faye.

Cyrus frowned and walked to the side of the table closest to the line.

Faye noticed the new presence beside her and looked up.

Before she could greet him, he spoke first.

"I can take this side."

Faye’s expression softened.

"Thank you for helping."

She moved to the other chair without arguing, which made Cyrus think she had already handled enough visitors for the day.

He placed one drink near her.

Faye stared at it in mild surprise.

Then she reached into the bag by her feet and pulled out two identical drinks.

For a breath, they looked at the four bottles on the table.

Cyrus laughed quietly.

Faye covered her smile with the back of her hand, though the amusement still showed in the curve of her shoulders.

They had thought of the same thing.

One bottle each would have been sensible. Two bottles each created an unnecessary stockpile, but Cyrus did not consider that a real problem. Extra drinks could always become future drinks.

The two spare bottles stayed near the back of the table.

Cyrus began handling the line. He took tickets, accepted small payments from public visitors, and told groups when they could enter. The movement felt familiar after two days of festival work and months at the lounge.

While the next group disappeared through the curtain, he spoke in a casual tone.

"Have you been on duty for a long time?"

"No, I only arrived a little early."

Faye’s voice remained gentle and honest.

She seemed to understand what he was actually asking, because she added, "I did not know where else to go, so I let the students before us take their break."

Cyrus nodded.

That sounded exactly like something Faye would do.

The classroom behind them produced a shriek, followed by laughter and a muffled complaint from someone who had clearly not expected the fake hand near the second wall. A family waiting in line became visibly more excited.

Faye lifted her drink and took a small sip.

Cyrus watched the line for a moment, then asked, "Did you enjoy the festival?"

"Yes, I enjoyed it."

The answer came smoothly enough.

Too smoothly.

Cyrus glanced toward her.

If Faye had not been sitting beside him, he might have missed the tiny pause before her reply. Her bangs hid her eyes, but the rest of her posture changed. The toes of her shoes, which had been shifting lightly under the table while they talked, became still.

That answer was not entirely true.

Cyrus thought back over the past three days.

He had wandered through most of the school. He had played games, watched performances, eaten snacks, stood in lines, and spent enough time near the food booths to recognize which stands were worth revisiting. During all of that, he had barely seen Faye outside the haunted-house table, her home, or a quiet corner.

What had she been doing the rest of the time?

Hiding?

Helping with work no one else wanted?

Avoiding crowds?

Cyrus could not immediately find another explanation.

If other students had been bothering her, he had not noticed it in class. Faye rarely interacted with many people there, but nobody had openly mocked her or pushed her around in front of him.

Then again, bullying did not always happen where witnesses could recognize it.

It could come from another class.

It could happen in hallways.

It could be less dramatic than shoving and more exhausting than insults. Exclusion, whispers, invitations that never arrived, seats that became unavailable, classmates who let the quiet girl take extra work because she would not complain.

Cyrus’s expression darkened beneath his bangs.

Faye could cook. She was patient with her siblings. She lent him comics, made cake, and worried when he did not answer his phone. She was the kind of person who helped without immediately turning help into a leash.

If someone at St. Alder was making the festival hard for her, that person deserved close attention.

He would have to watch more carefully when classes resumed next week.

Faye looked at him from the corner of her eye.

She could tell he had noticed something.

That made her chest tighten and warm at the same time.

The festival might have been different if the problem were not hers.

She could have walked with him through the booths. She could have tried the games he liked, stood beside him for fireworks, and eaten too-sweet festival cake while Miles and Lena argued later about which part sounded most fun.

Instead, she had stayed near the edges.

Crowds created too many chances for trouble. The more people gathered, the more attention drifted, collided, and attached itself to places where she did not want it. Staying useful at the haunted house was easier. People accepted a quiet girl behind a ticket table. They did not ask why she was not having fun.

A group came out through the back door, and Cyrus called the next visitors forward.

Work continued around them.

After several minutes, Faye asked, "Did you have fun during the three days?"

"This is my first time attending a school event like this," Cyrus said. "I had fun."

"Your old school never had something similar?"

"No, the place was too remote for that kind of festival."

Faye accepted the answer with a small nod.

Cyrus did not explain more. The answer was safe enough and close enough to the fake life he used when people asked about his past. A remote school explained plenty without inviting sympathy or details.

He handed change to the next visitor and returned to his seat.

"Thank you, by the way," he said.

Faye tilted her head slightly.

"What are you thanking me for?"

"If you had not called me yesterday, I would have missed the fireworks."