Chapter 118: A Girl’s Thoughts

Chapter 118: Chapter 118: A Girl’s Thoughts

Chapter 118: A Girl’s Thoughts

At eight that evening, Owen Keats stood in front of the house next door and wondered whether knocking would make things better or worse.

The windows were lit. Somewhere inside, ordinary family sounds moved behind the walls, dishes in a sink, a television at low volume, footsteps crossing a room. It was the same house he had walked past thousands of times. The same door. The same porch light. The same girl on the other side, probably.

That last part was what bothered him.

Cyrus’s note, the missing money, Iris’s words at school, and all the friends who had drifted away over the years kept circling in his head. Faces he had not thought about in a long time returned with uncomfortable clarity.

Why would Iris do something like that?

At lunch, the things she said had felt familiar in a way he did not like. She had warned him away from Cyrus using the same gentle concern she had used with other people. The same careful hesitation. The same mention of his parents. The same suggestion that he was too kind and needed someone to keep an eye on him.

Was it really only for his own good?

Owen could not make the pieces fit.

He had come next door because guessing in his bedroom would not give him an answer. If Iris had a reason, he wanted to hear it from her.

Before he raised his hand, the lock turned from the inside.

The door opened.

Iris stood there, still in casual clothes, her glasses catching the porch light. For a few breaths, neither of them spoke.

Owen was the one who broke the silence.

"Do you want to walk for a bit?"

Iris did not answer right away. She looked unsurprised, as though some part of her had expected him to come.

Then she stepped out, pulled the door shut behind her, and walked down the porch steps without asking where they were going.

Her quick agreement left Owen briefly stalled.

By the time he moved, she was already several steps ahead.

The night had cooled since sunset. Iris had come out wearing clothes too light for the weather, a thin cardigan over a shirt, nothing suited for the damp wind sliding through the neighborhood. Owen noticed before he could stop noticing. Habit moved faster than hurt.

He took off his jacket, caught up to her, and placed it over her shoulders.

Iris drew it around herself.

For a while, they walked without speaking.

The neighborhood was quiet at that hour. Cars sat along the curb under scattered streetlights, and the damp pavement held the glow from upstairs windows. A dog barked somewhere behind a fence, then stopped when someone inside called it back.

Iris tightened Owen’s jacket around herself.

"Do you think I went too far?"

Owen did not answer.

His silence was answer enough.

Planting suspicion on Cyrus and Faye could not be called kindness. If Cyrus had been like Faye, if he had stayed quiet and endured it without arguing, his place in the class would have gotten worse. Even with Owen taking responsibility for the missing money, Ms. Hart’s announcement would not have cleared them properly if Cyrus had not prepared the right explanation.

Without the note, Owen might have tried to defend them in a way that made everything messier.

If Cyrus had chosen another method, he probably would have found a way to expose Iris directly.

Owen did not want to see that happen.

That was not the main thing weighing on him, though.

Before he could ask the question, Iris spoke first.

"You are wondering whether I had something to do with your old friends leaving too."

Owen stopped looking at the sidewalk.

Iris’s voice stayed soft, but it carried the confidence of someone who had already decided which truth to reveal.

She pulled the jacket closer as another gust moved through the street.

"Do you remember Tyler Ward?"

"I remember him. Why bring him up now?"

"He was dating three girls at the same time behind everyone’s back."

Owen’s steps slowed.

"What?"

"He kept borrowing money from you because one of the girls got pregnant and needed help paying for an abortion. I was the one who kept stopping you from lending him more, so he stopped spending time with you."

Owen stared at her.

"What?"

Iris continued before he could organize himself.

"It was not only Tyler. Dylan Price, Grant Keller, Evan Pierce, and the others were the same kind of people. They knew your family had money, and they knew you were easy to ask. That was why they stayed close."

"You could have told me."

"Would you have listened?"

Iris stopped walking and turned toward him.

The seriousness in her face left Owen with no easy reply. Her eyes held his through the lenses of her glasses, steady and tired, as though she had asked herself that same question many times and already knew the answer.

Owen’s shoulders dropped.

He probably would not have listened.

Friendship between boys had always seemed simple to him. If someone had food, games, notes, or a new thing to share, they shared it. If someone ran into trouble, the next step was helping, not checking whether the trouble was staged. With his personality, he would have reached for his wallet before wondering why the same person kept needing him.

Iris’s honesty tapped at the wall he had been building against her.

It worked better than he wanted it to.

Then Owen remembered the most important problem.

"No, wait," he said. "What about Cyrus?"

Iris fell silent for a brief span before answering.

"That thing before, when you went into a lounge at night," she said carefully. "Was that not because of him?"

"I went because I wanted to see what his job was like."

Owen closed his mouth before he finished, but too much had already slipped out.

Iris lowered her lashes.

A trace of understanding passed through her expression.

So that part had been true.

Before now, Owen’s visit to a lounge had only been her guess. She knew the social circles he kept at school, and none of them had mentioned bars, lounges, night work, or anything close to that. The only conversations she did not fully know were the ones between Owen and the quiet boy in the corner.

That meant Cyrus had become a gap.

Owen did not know what Iris was thinking. He only continued, earnest despite himself.

"Cyrus is not a bad person. If I had not started talking to him first, we would not even have become close. He never tried to pull me into anything."

"Does that prove he is good?"

"At least it proves he is not bad."

The answer sounded weak even to Owen, so he added it carefully.

Iris watched him, then nodded as if she had decided not to argue further.

"All right. I understand."

Owen let out a breath he had not realized he was holding.

"I will apologize to both of them."

"I will go with you."

His response came without hesitation.

Iris paused, so faintly that anyone else might have missed it.

By then, their walk had looped them back to her house. The porch light shone over the steps, and the curtains at the front window were drawn.

"I will see you tomorrow," Iris said.

"Yeah. Good night."

Owen watched her go inside, then turned toward his own house.

Iris closed the door behind her.

Owen’s jacket still hung around her shoulders.

She went to her room without returning it. Once the door was shut, she lifted the collar to her face and breathed in the familiar scent trapped in the fabric.

He was still so easy to handle.

The thought slipped through her with quiet satisfaction.

Owen only needed one person beside him.

Her.

That meant the remaining problem still needed to be removed.

At The Full Moon Lounge, the evening held its usual polished calm.

Low music moved beneath conversation. Warm light pooled across the bar top and caught in the rows of clean glassware. The air smelled faintly of citrus peel, polished wood, and whatever expensive perfume the regulars brought in with their coats.

"Did you miss me?"

Detective Rhea Maddox leaned against the bar with the confidence of someone who knew she occupied space well.

Cyrus Calder continued mixing the drink in front of him.

"You have not been here in a while."

"That is exactly what I am saying. Work has been trying to kill me."

To prove the point, Rhea stretched with easy satisfaction. The movement made no attempt at modesty, and the fitted lines of her clothes emphasized a body that turned heads even in a room full of people pretending not to stare.

It did not affect the young man behind the bar.

Cyrus measured, poured, and stirred with steady hands.

His thoughts stayed on more useful matters.

Rhea had probably been busy because of the glamourkin arrest. Rare-blood cases could not be simple for human law enforcement, especially when the suspect could affect other people’s minds. If she had been gone this long, the glamourkin might have been having an extremely unpleasant time.

Human movies had taught Cyrus very little that could be called reliable education, but they had taught him that official interrogation methods were not always gentle.

If he ever committed a serious crime, would he end up the same way?

That possibility was not appealing.

Fortunately, he was a law-abiding student. Mostly. As far as public records were concerned, he was doing quite well.

Cyrus finished the drink and slid the glass toward Rhea.

Rhea, who had been watching his hands with far too much patience, reached out at almost the same time. Her timing was smooth, nearly accidental. If Cyrus had been half a beat slower, her fingers would have closed over his hand before touching the glass.

He withdrew first.

Rhea caught only the stem.

A flicker of regret crossed her face.

Cyrus noticed.

Of course he noticed.

Only this woman could make a failed attempt at touching his hand look like part of normal bar etiquette. Helena was not at the lounge tonight, which probably explained why Rhea had become so relaxed about small tricks.

With the drink safely handed over, Cyrus allowed himself to study her properly for the first time.

Rhea held official authority. She was not only a patrol officer or some random investigator who had wandered into a strange case. From what he had seen, she occupied a real position and knew how to move inside systems that could make other people answer questions.

When Cyrus encountered the glamourkin, Rhea had seemed reliable.

At the moment, watching her toy with the glass as if the failed hand contact amused her, he was less certain.

Could she be written into his diary as a safeguard in case the fake amnesia ever became a real problem?

The answer was unclear.

She might protect him.

She might protect him by putting him somewhere he could not leave.

Cyrus set a mental question mark beside her name.

Rhea lifted the glass and tasted the drink. She had not had one of his drinks in a while, but her attention stayed fixed on the bartender instead of the alcohol.

Their eyes met.

Rhea’s expression shifted with practiced ease, brightening into something playful and openly charming. The question that followed sounded casual, but nothing about her was careless.

"What is it? You are watching me longer than usual tonight."

Cyrus said nothing at first.

The mental question mark beside her name grew darker.

Then his handsome, cool face remained perfectly calm as he spoke.

"I think you gained weight."