Chapter 148: The Story

Chapter 148: Chapter 148: The Story

Chapter 148: The Story

Vera Sable cleared her throat and looked across the table at Daphne Whitlock.

"Actually, your eyes keep reminding me of a cousin who stayed with my family for a while. She lives overseas now, but her eyes were very similar to yours."

Daphne paused over her lunch.

"Is that so? I appreciate the compliment."

"You are welcome. Seeing you actually brought back a few memories from when we lived together."

Daphne noticed the brief, almost nostalgic pause in Vera’s expression and did not interrupt. She continued eating while making it clear she was listening.

"If you do not mind talking about it, I would be interested in hearing the story."

"I do not mind at all."

Vera smiled.

The story she began with sounded harmless enough.

"My cousin was a few years younger than me, and we were very close. We were both young at the time, though, and I took advantage of being the older one more often than I should have."

Daphne gave her a mildly amused look.

"What did you make her do?"

"Nothing terrible. I would send her to get things for me, make her handle little chores, steal the comfortable seat before she could get there, and generally behave like being older gave me authority."

"That sounds familiar for siblings and cousins."

"It probably is."

Vera took a small bite of her lunch.

"She complained sometimes, but it was never serious. Then one day she became strangely gloomy and told me something that scared me."

Vera stopped at exactly the right place.

Daphne naturally followed the opening.

"What did she tell you?"

"She asked what I would do if she suddenly disappeared one day, or if I woke up and did not recognize her anymore."

Daphne’s hand slowed.

Vera appeared not to notice.

"For a while around then, she kept acting unusually vulnerable whenever I was nearby. She looked miserable, stayed quiet, and made these little comments that sounded as though something terrible was going to happen."

"What was wrong with her?"

"That was the problem. Whenever I asked, she refused to explain."

Vera laughed faintly.

"I worried about her for ages."

Daphne’s attention had drifted completely away from her food.

"What happened afterward?"

While asking, she found herself thinking of Cyrus.

The connection arrived so quickly that she almost rejected it on instinct.

Vera continued without changing her pace.

"I eventually decided I must have gone too far with all the things I made her do. I felt guilty, so I started treating her especially well."

She rested her chin lightly against one hand.

"I stopped asking her for favors. I brought things to her instead. If she wanted something, I tried to take care of it before she had to ask. Somehow, I went from being the older cousin who bossed her around to the one being ordered around."

Daphne did not smile this time.

Vera’s expression, meanwhile, brightened as though the next part still entertained her.

"Then I accidentally found her diary."

Daphne’s gaze sharpened slightly.

"That changed things?"

"Completely."

Vera laughed.

"The little liar had planned the whole thing. The comments about disappearing, the gloomy face, the way she acted wounded whenever I was around, all of it was deliberate."

"Why would she do that?"

"Her friends suggested it."

Vera spoke with the fond exasperation of someone remembering an old family prank.

"They knew I kept ordering her around, so they told her that if she made me feel guilty enough, I would stop. She followed their advice, and unfortunately, it worked beautifully."

Daphne stared at her.

Vera took another bite, then added, "I suppose that is why looking at you kept making the memory come back. There is something familiar about your expression."

Daphne’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around her fork.

"Familiar in the same way as your cousin?"

Vera made a small, agreeable sound.

Her expression revealed very little.

Inside, she was having considerably more fun.

The cousin did not exist.

There had been no younger relative, no childhood manipulation, and no conveniently discovered diary.

Every part of the story had been built for the woman sitting across from her.

How much Daphne understood was another question.

That was what made it entertaining.

Vera had given Cyrus several chances over the past few days to come willingly to the nurse’s office and let her feed again. He had read her messages and ignored every one.

If he refused to cooperate, then he could hardly complain when she found something else to occupy herself.

Besides, Cyrus had become a little too comfortable lately.

Audra had the glamourkin ring.

Daphne was sinking deeper into guilt.

Rhea had apparently become another safeguard.

Faye trusted him.

A life with too many reliable protections would become boring.

Vera had no intention of interfering with Audra’s ring yet. An artifact capable of influencing the mind was complicated enough that touching it without reason could create trouble even she did not want.

Daphne, however, was different.

The teacher was already standing inside a situation she did not fully understand.

Vera was only offering a small hint.

Whatever happened afterward would be Daphne’s own choice.

Vera finished the last of her lunch and rose from the table.

"It was nice finally getting to talk properly, Ms. Whitlock."

Daphne looked up.

Vera continued with the easy concern expected from a medical professional.

"You really should get more rest, though. Whatever is keeping you busy, wearing yourself down will not help."

"I appreciate the concern. I will try."

"Then I will leave you to your lunch."

Vera walked away.

Daphne watched her disappear from the faculty dining area.

Long after Vera was gone, the story stayed behind.

The resemblance bothered her more with every passing minute.

Was it only coincidence?

Daphne tried to return to her meal.

The question followed her anyway.

By the end of the school day, fatigue had settled into her shoulders.

She drove home through Grayhaven with both hands on the wheel, but her mind kept returning to the conversation from lunch.

Once she had noticed a little of Cyrus inside Vera’s story, she could no longer stop seeing the similarities.

His recent behavior had been too close.

The comments about losing his memory.

The subdued expression.

The way he had asked whether she could be trusted if he forgot everything.

Then last night, he had told her not to keep bringing meals because he might forget her kindness.

Daphne tried to dismiss the comparison.

Cyrus was not Vera’s fictional cousin.

More importantly, he was rare-blooded.

She still did not know exactly what he was, only that his body behaved in ways ordinary humans did not. Memory problems connected to his bloodline were entirely possible.

The thought should have reassured her.

It did not.

An image returned without permission.

Cyrus standing in his doorway with his eyes lowered, telling her that the missing memories might be his own problem rather than an accident.

He had looked genuinely vulnerable.

Daphne’s expression softened.

He had no family around him.

That much seemed real.

Whatever his past contained, nobody had appeared claiming to be a normal parent, sibling, or relative. Cyrus lived alone, worked nights, managed his own meals when she did not bring them, and treated basic independence as something precious enough to defend.

Would someone with no one else truly fake vulnerability simply to manipulate her?

Daphne wanted the answer to be no.

The fact that she wanted it made the doubt worse.

She reached their apartment building, parked, and went upstairs.

When she passed Cyrus’s door, her steps slowed.

She looked at it for several seconds.

Then she continued into her own apartment.

Evening settled over Grayhaven.

By around eight, Daphne had slept for a short while and awakened with the same question still lodged in her mind.

She stood outside Cyrus’s apartment.

Why had someone whose face normally revealed so little chosen to show weakness specifically in front of her?

The thought had changed shape after Vera’s story.

Before lunch, Daphne had interpreted those moments as trust.

Now another possibility existed.

Maybe Cyrus knew exactly what her guilt would make her do.

Maybe his lowered eyes, careful refusals, and talk of memory loss had been deliberate.

The suspicion felt ugly.

Daphne raised one hand toward the door.

Was she seriously going to investigate a student’s apartment because of a stranger’s family story?

Her fingers paused.

If Cyrus really had been lying, then what did that make everything she had done these past several days?

The early mornings spent preparing food.

The ingredients she chose because she thought he would like them.

The relief every time he accepted something from her.

The guilt she carried after realizing she could not promise he would always be safe with her.

Had he known?

A cool night breeze moved through the exterior corridor and brushed loose strands of hair away from Daphne’s face.

She knocked.

No answer came.

Daphne waited.

She knocked again, lighter this time.

The apartment remained silent.

She stood there for another stretch of time, giving Cyrus every reasonable chance to respond in case he was showering, sleeping, or simply slow to reach the door.

Nothing moved inside.

Her hesitation returned.

She could still go home.

She should probably go home.

Instead, Daphne reached into her pocket.

A key rested in her palm.

She was the landlord.

That fact gave her a perfectly respectable excuse, at least if she did not examine it too closely.

She was only checking on a tenant.

Cyrus had spoken about worsening memory loss. He had lived alone. If something happened to him inside, ignoring the concern would hardly be responsible.

Daphne inserted the key.

The lock opened without resistance.

Cold air met her immediately.

The apartment was cooler than the outdoor corridor despite the mild evening.

Daphne paused inside.

She had noticed Cyrus’s strange cold before.

Tonight, however, she was not here to investigate his body.

She closed the door behind her.

Hours later, The Full Moon Lounge was winding down for the night.

"You are good for today," Malcolm Baird told Cyrus. "Finish what you are doing and head home."

"I will finish cleaning this first."

Cyrus put away the last few things from his station, wiped down the surface, and changed out of what he needed for work.

Soon afterward, he was walking home.

Grayhaven’s streets had thinned considerably by ten. The businesses still open cast pools of light across the sidewalk, while the quieter stretches between them were nearly empty.

Cyrus walked the familiar route with his thoughts drifting.

Ever since Helena paid him to model and Rhea paid him for their strange date, a new rumor seemed to have appeared around the lounge.

Apparently Cyrus could be hired privately if the price was high enough.

He found that interpretation insulting.

Money did not make everything negotiable.

It merely made certain perfectly acceptable things much easier to agree to.

There was a difference.

Rhea had not returned to The Full Moon Lounge since Sunday.

Maybe police work had kept her busy.

Or perhaps she was embarrassed after what happened in her apartment and did not want to face him yet.

That possibility bothered Cyrus more.

He needed Rhea as a safeguard.

A detective who had already proven capable of helping him against a glamourkin was too useful to lose because of one badly handled weekend.

If she still did not appear tomorrow, maybe he should send her a message.

Nothing dramatic.

He could simply ask how she was doing.

Cyrus continued turning the problem over while finishing the quick food he had picked up on the way home.

By the time he reached his building, the streets behind him were quiet.

He went upstairs and entered his apartment.

Everything looked normal.

Cyrus changed, washed up, and eventually reached for the nightstand.

His diary was exactly where he had left it.

He had only just picked it up when someone knocked on his door.