Chapter 115: Apology

Chapter 115: Chapter 115: Apology

Chapter 115: Apology

The break after morning class had barely started when Cyrus Calder and Faye Larkin reported to Ms. Hart’s office.

They stood side by side in front of her desk and asked whether the school could pull the hallway security footage from the time of the incident. Neither of them raised their voice or tried to argue the matter emotionally. They only wanted a clear record that could settle the accusation and prove that neither of them had done what the class now seemed determined to discuss.

Ms. Hart studied the two students across from her.

Faye looked as gentle as she usually did, though her hands remained clasped a little too tightly in front of her skirt. Cyrus showed even less. His bangs hid most of his eyes, and the same sleepy calm rested over him as if being treated like the most suspicious person in the room required no special reaction.

That composure did not make the situation easier to judge.

Ms. Hart had only asked the two student representatives to quietly find out what had happened. She had not expected the question to spread until nearly everyone in their advisory knew there was something to whisper about. Once a rumor reached that point, even a simple correction could give it another reason to survive.

"You should both return to class," she said. "I will handle the security footage and speak to the people involved."

It was not the answer Cyrus had hoped for, but it was reasonable enough. A teacher refusing to bring students into a security review was hardly suspicious.

"All right, Ms. Hart. We will wait for your answer," Faye replied.

Cyrus gave a small nod, and they left the office together.

He was not especially confident that the cameras would reveal anything useful. The person involved had acted too calmly. Anyone who knew the hallways were monitored would have taken basic precautions, such as choosing the wrong angle, staying out of frame, or letting someone else carry the visible part of the plan.

Cyrus only needed to imagine himself in the same position.

He would have avoided the cameras too.

If he had applied that level of care earlier in his own life, Daphne Whitlock might not have attached herself to his routine so thoroughly. She had become his teacher, his neighbor, his source of homemade meals, and a problem he could not remove without losing several things he genuinely liked. That was what happened when danger learned how to cook.

When Cyrus and Faye returned to advisory, the room’s noise dropped by a noticeable degree.

Nobody openly confronted them. A few students bent over their phones with sudden interest, while others resumed conversations that had clearly paused when the door opened. Cyrus walked back to his seat without acknowledging any of it. Faye did the same, though the faint tension in her shoulders did not disappear until she sat down.

Waiting for Ms. Hart was their only useful option.

By lunch, the class had recovered enough to pretend the morning had not happened.

The bell had barely finished ringing when Owen Keats turned toward the next desk with an eagerness that suggested he had spent the last part of class thinking about food instead of whatever had been on the board.

"Cyrus, are you going to the cafeteria?"

"Yes, I was heading there now."

Cyrus stood, then glanced toward Faye’s desk near the front.

"Faye, would you like to come with us?"

"I brought my lunch today, but thank you for asking."

Her answer came in the same warm, even voice she normally used. Cyrus did not press her. He left with Owen while Faye opened the lunch container she had packed from home.

Eating alone gave her an excuse to keep her attention on the room without joining anyone’s conversation.

Across the aisle, one student called after a friend who had almost walked past, then reached out and gave the other student two quick pats between the shoulders. The friend turned around without surprise, and the two of them left together.

Faye lowered her fork.

At least Cyrus never came up behind her and touched her that casually. He kept a careful amount of space between himself and almost everyone, even when he accepted food from her or followed her home to visit her family. For once, his habit of treating human contact like an unnecessary risk felt reassuring.

The cafeteria was already crowded when Cyrus and Owen arrived. Trays knocked against the rails, students talked over one another, and the serving line moved with the slow impatience of people who knew lunch period would end whether they had finished eating or not.

Cyrus chose the day’s hot meal, chicken with mashed potatoes and vegetables, then stepped aside while Owen paid at the register.

They found a small table far enough from the busiest section to talk without raising their voices. Cyrus tried the food and immediately understood that St. Alder’s tuition did not guarantee seasoning.

Daphne’s cooking was better.

That conclusion bothered him more than it should have. The cafeteria had to feed hundreds of students, while Daphne only had to cook for herself and then prepare far too much food for the neighbor she claimed she happened to remember. Mass production probably explained the difference. It did not explain why Cyrus had started comparing every meal to hers.

Owen watched him eat several bites without offering a single useful observation.

"You said buying you lunch would help you figure out what was going on," Owen said. "Have you figured anything out yet?"

"I have a reasonable idea."

Cyrus did not turn his head, but he could feel someone’s attention settling over their table from a distance. The attention was restrained enough to blend into the cafeteria crowd. It remained too steady to be accidental.

That matched his suspicion.

"You told me that you and Iris grew up together, correct?"

Owen blinked at the sudden change in subject. "Yeah, we have known each other since we were kids. Why are you asking?"

"I am checking something."

Cyrus took another bite, then set down his fork.

"What kind of person is she?"

"Iris is serious, and she is good at nearly everything she does."

"How good is she?"

Owen considered the question. "I honestly cannot remember her being bad at anything important. She works harder than most people, and she usually gets things right."

Cyrus nodded, letting the answer settle beside the other details he had already collected.

Owen’s expression gradually changed. Caution replaced confusion, though it arrived in the wrong direction.

"Are you interested in Iris?"

Cyrus looked at him.

The question was so poorly connected to the conversation that he needed a moment to understand how Owen had reached it.

What kind of reasoning was that?

Owen seemed to sink slightly in his chair. "I mean, if you were interested, you could probably get her attention pretty easily."

"I do not pursue people."

So far, women had been the ones pursuing him, and some of them had interpreted pursuit with alarming physical accuracy.

Owen’s mood dropped another step, which only made Cyrus more certain that the real issue had nothing to do with his own nonexistent romantic interest.

"There is something I have wanted to ask you," Cyrus said. "Why did you choose an online relationship in the first place? Did you never consider dating someone you already knew, such as Iris?"

Owen stared at him, then let out a small sound of surprise.

"There has never been anyone around me who felt like a real possibility," he said. "Iris and I have known each other forever. We are too used to each other, and she has never acted like she sees me that way."

Cyrus lost interest in the explanation halfway through. He had already heard the part he needed.

He finished the last of his lunch while more than half of Owen’s tray remained untouched. Owen was still trying to explain why childhood familiarity did not automatically become romance when Cyrus stood and collected his empty tray.

"I am going ahead."

"You are leaving already?"

"I finished eating, and you should read this before you do anything else."

Cyrus placed a folded sheet of paper beside Owen’s tray.

He had written the precautions earlier, after considering the possibility that Iris belonged to the same general category as certain women he had already learned not to underestimate. Humans did not have Frostborn instincts, bloodline claims, or supernatural contracts by default. That did not mean they lacked inventive ways to watch someone, isolate them, or decide that concern justified interference.

The exchange was discreet. From another table, the folded paper looked like a class note or a discarded worksheet.

Cyrus carried his tray away and left the cafeteria.

The attention he had felt remained behind.

That answered one question.

Outside, the colder weather had begun settling properly over Grayhaven. Cyrus appreciated it for practical reasons. Chilling one of his bottled sweet drinks no longer required him to fight the season, and the air against his skin felt comfortable instead of hostile.

He deliberately chose a walkway with fewer students.

Rather than heading directly toward the main academic building, he followed the quieter side path and stopped behind the building where the cafeteria noise could no longer reach him. He waited long enough to test the second possibility he had considered.

Nobody followed him, and no one appeared to question why he had been speaking privately with Owen.

Cyrus checked the empty path once more.

Now the rest depended on what Owen chose to do with the warning.

Lunch break still had plenty of time left. After confirming that his own situation was not about to become more troublesome, Cyrus took out his phone and opened his conversation with Audra Sloane.

Cyrus: Are you free to talk right now?

The message remained delivered for several seconds before the status changed to read.

Cyrus typed again.

Cyrus: Could we use the same empty classroom?

Audra: Yes, that works for me.

Her second reply came almost immediately.

Cyrus put away his phone and headed upstairs. The fourth-floor hallway was mostly empty during lunch, with only the muted sound of students moving elsewhere in the building. Through the narrow window in the classroom door, he could already see Audra waiting inside.

She stood near the front row with a brown envelope held against her uniform.

Cyrus entered and kept his eyes lowered.

He knew the pink-stoned glamourkin ring could affect him, and knowing that did not make him immune. Until he confirmed whether Audra was wearing it again, caution mattered more than appearing polite.

A pair of polished shoes came into view, followed by the hem of her skirt as she stepped closer.

Cyrus had not yet spoken when Audra addressed him first.

"I am truly sorry for what I did to you."

The apology stopped him.

If the voice had not unmistakably belonged to Audra, he might have wondered whether someone else had entered the classroom before him. He had expected an explanation, a careful argument, or another composed attempt to control how the conversation unfolded. He had not expected her to apologize before he asked a single question.

Apparently Audra could be remarkably direct when she decided she had been wrong.

Then again, Cyrus barely knew her. His surprise probably said more about his assumptions than her personality.

"I know this may not be enough to make up for it," Audra continued, "but I still hope you will accept it."

She extended both hands.

A thick brown envelope entered his lowered field of vision.

Cyrus recognized the color, the shape, and the weight pressing against the paper. He had seen envelopes like that before, usually when someone wanted money to carry more meaning than an ordinary transfer could manage.

Neither of Audra’s pale hands wore a ring.

Only after confirming that did Cyrus raise his eyes.

Audra had inclined herself slightly toward him, holding the envelope out with both hands. Her expression carried none of her usual distant composure. The apology in her voice was direct, unmistakable, and sincere.