Chapter 110: The Fall Festival, Part Twenty-Five

Chapter 110: Chapter 110: The Fall Festival, Part Twenty-Five

Chapter 110: The Fall Festival, Part Twenty-Five

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

Faye paused at the entrance table.

Cyrus said it in his usual even tone, the kind that did not invite anyone to make a big deal out of anything. Even so, she heard the sincerity under it. He was not saying it to fill the silence, and he was not handing her some easy courtesy because they happened to be sitting together.

He meant it.

Faye looked at him while he continued handling the work that should have belonged to both of them. A family of three stepped up to the table, and Cyrus took their payment, counted the tickets, and pointed them toward the curtain without missing the rhythm of the conversation.

He had been like this from the beginning.

When something tasted good, he said so. When someone helped him, he thanked them. When he noticed effort, he did not pretend not to see it. His voice stayed calm, sometimes so calm people might mistake it for coldness, but the words themselves were never careless.

Faye lowered her eyes to the drink in front of her.

Cyrus really was a good person.

"You do not need to thank me," she said softly. "I only hoped I was not bothering you."

"You were not bothering me."

Cyrus finished collecting the next group’s tickets and sat back down. The answer came easily, without hesitation, which made it harder for Faye to hide the small smile that touched her mouth.

The line kept moving.

They continued the comic conversation from earlier, drifting through characters, plot twists, and which side character deserved more page time. Cyrus insisted that a villain who spent three volumes acting useless should not be rewarded with a tragic backstory. Faye said the next arc might change his mind. Cyrus said that sounded like a threat disguised as a recommendation.

Faye laughed under her breath.

The afternoon passed that way, in small exchanges between visitors.

Outside the classroom, the haunted-house line slowly shortened. The public guests who had arrived earlier began moving toward the outdoor booths, and some students left to claim good places for the evening fireworks. Inside Classroom Three, the occasional scream faded into laughter, then into the rustling of curtains as each group found its way through the back exit.

By the time their shift neared its end, it was not quite five, but the light outside the hallway windows had already warmed into gold. Late autumn did that. The day seemed bright until it suddenly began slipping away, scattering sunset across the courtyard and leaving the corners of the building dimmer than expected.

When the last visitor left and no new group stepped up, Ms. Hart appeared with a cardboard sign tucked under one arm.

The sign read CLOSED FOR CLEANUP in bold marker letters.

"I found this in the student council supply box," she said, placing it near the entrance table. "It is not elegant, but it will do the job."

Cyrus thought the sign was excellent.

A clear sign reduced questions. Anything that reduced questions deserved respect.

Ms. Hart gathered the nearby students and sent someone inside to call out the performers hiding in the haunted-house route. A few classmates emerged from behind curtains, still wearing fake blood, pale makeup, monster masks, and torn lab coats. Others came back from the outdoor booths carrying snacks, prizes, or half-finished drinks.

The haunted house began coming apart.

Black curtains were unclipped from the windows. Cardboard walls were folded. Fishing lines were untied and wound around scraps of tape so they would not tangle. The display coffin was emptied and moved toward the side of the room. A few students complained that the fake limbs were sticky from the paint, and Ms. Hart told them that was why gloves had been provided.

Cyrus helped only where someone pointed him.

His ankle had improved, but he had no reason to volunteer for heavy lifting while still pretending the sprain mattered. Taking down curtains and collecting small props looked responsible enough.

Faye gathered ticket stubs and cleared the entrance table.

The classroom became messier before it became cleaner. Desks stood in the wrong places, chairs clustered near the wall, black fabric lay in piles, and the ordinary shape of the room had not yet returned. Students gathered in uneven groups, some still discussing which scare worked best and others comparing what they had bought around campus.

Ms. Hart checked the time and clapped her hands.

"Everyone, before you run off, let us take a class photo. We may as well prove this room looked chaotic for a reason."

A few students cheered.

Several groaned.

Nobody escaped.

Cyrus ended up near the windows with Faye. The two of them stood against the wall, each holding one of the extra bottled drinks from their shift. Cyrus kept his hair lowered again, back in his ordinary school version, while Faye stood beside him with the same quiet posture she used in class.

The photo flash went off.

Then another student demanded a second picture because someone had blinked.

By the time the pictures were done, the Fall Festival had truly begun to feel like it was ending.

Ms. Hart dismissed them afterward, but not before reminding everyone to text her or the class group chat once they arrived home. It did not matter whether they left early, stayed for fireworks, or went out with family afterward. She wanted proof that every student had gotten where they were supposed to go.

"Do not make me call your parents because you forgot to send a message," she warned. "That is a terrible way to end a festival."

Students left the classroom in small groups.

Cyrus walked into the hallway and stopped near the window.

He still wanted to talk to Audra.

The problem was finding the right chance. Audra was too noticeable. If he approached her in front of their classmates, people would start watching. If he asked her to speak privately, that might create another set of rumors. If he mentioned the ring in the wrong place, the situation could become far worse than gossip.

Audra had not made it easier.

She had been avoiding him since the nurse’s office. During cleanup, she moved with the other students but kept distance between them, and when Ms. Hart dismissed the class, Audra left so quickly that Cyrus barely saw her pass through the door.

If she felt embarrassed, she should have considered that earlier.

Cyrus took out his phone and opened her contact.

He typed, deleted, and rewrote the message once before sending it.

Cyrus: If possible, I hope we can talk properly on Monday.

The message did not show as read.

Cyrus put the phone away.

If Audra handed over the glamourkin ring on her own, he could be generous enough to set aside what happened in the nurse’s office. The ring had been affecting her too. More importantly, it might become useful.

If that artifact helped him finally deal with Isolde, Cyrus would return the favor properly after he became rich.

That was a future promise, which made it safe because the future had not sent him a bill yet.

He leaned against the hallway window and looked toward the darkening campus.

The end of today also marked the hundredth day since his escape.

Humans liked attaching meaning to clean numbers. One hundred days, one year, ten years, anniversaries, milestones, commemorations. Cyrus used to think it was pointless, but now that the number belonged to him, the habit felt surprisingly reasonable.

One hundred days outside the cage deserved something.

Maybe he should watch the fireworks.

Maybe he should leave campus and buy two small cakes instead. Eating cake to celebrate one hundred days of freedom sounded more practical than standing in a crowd while the sky exploded for everyone equally.

The last student to leave the classroom was Faye.

Cyrus noticed her near the door and made his decision simple.

He would let Faye choose.

If she wanted to watch the fireworks, he could stay and watch with her. If she wanted to go home, he could walk her partway and see whether anyone really had been making the festival uncomfortable for her.

Cyrus pushed away from the window and walked over.

"Faye, are you watching the fireworks tonight?"

Faye seemed surprised by the question.

After a brief pause, she shook her head.

"I should not stay tonight. Miles and Lena are both home, so I need to head back."

"That is fine. I will walk with you."

Faye looked up.

"You are not watching?"

"I do not really feel like watching them tonight."

Cyrus lifted the two unopened drinks in his hand before she could refuse.

"We can bring these to Miles and Lena. They might like trying them."

That reason was much harder for Faye to reject.

She hesitated, then accepted the second drink from him.

"Thank you. They will probably be happy."

The two of them had barely started toward the stairs when Owen hurried out of the classroom.

"Cyrus, Faye, you are both still here."

Cyrus stopped.

"What happened?"

"When you took over the shift earlier, did anything seem off during the handoff?" Owen asked. "Did the students before you mention anything strange?"

"No, I did not notice anything unusual."

Cyrus had arrived a little early, but not early enough to watch the previous shift closely. Nothing about the cash box, the line, or the entrance table had seemed strange.

Unless Faye sitting there alone counted.

Owen turned toward her too.

Faye shook her head.

"I checked everything when I took over. It seemed normal."

Owen looked troubled.

"Iris and I found something after counting everything with Ms. Hart, but I should not say too much before we are sure. We can talk about it on Monday."

He sighed, waved once, and returned to the classroom.

Cyrus and Faye stood in the hallway for a moment.

Neither of them understood.

The first two days of shift handoffs had worked the same way. Tickets, money, cash box, line control, entrance count. Today should not have created anything new.

Cyrus glanced back into the classroom.

Iris stood near Ms. Hart beside the messy entrance table. Her glasses caught the room light, and she was looking directly at him and Faye.

When she realized Cyrus had noticed, she turned away.

The feeling from earlier returned.

He could not tell whether it was hostility, suspicion, or something else.

By the time Cyrus and Faye left campus, evening had deepened. The first lights along the street had come on, and the crowds around St. Alder had thinned as families headed home or gathered near the better viewing areas for the fireworks.

Faye walked beside him with the drink tucked carefully in both hands.

"What do you think Owen meant?" she asked.

"I do not know yet."

Cyrus thought over the shift again.

Then one possibility came to mind.

"When you took over from the previous group, did you confirm the amount in the cash box?"

"Yes, I checked it."

"Then it should be fine."

At the end of their shift, they had handed the box directly to Iris. If money was missing, the problem should not belong to them.

Cyrus had noticed the amount, naturally. Anyone with eyes and rent to pay would notice a box full of cash. He had also not been stupid enough to touch it. Daphne’s refund had left him comfortable for the moment, and stealing from a classroom activity would be one of the easiest ways to ruin a good disguise.

Their path toward Faye’s house took about fifteen minutes.

Halfway there, the fireworks began behind them.

The first burst sounded from the direction of campus, sharp and bright through the evening air. Buildings blocked most of the view, but color flashed between rooftops, briefly lighting the narrow gaps above the street.

Faye slowed.

Then she stopped.

Cyrus turned back.

She stood with her head tilted upward, quietly watching the small pieces of fireworks visible between the buildings.