Chapter 76: Let’s See What You Do
Chapter 76: Chapter 76: Let’s See What You Do
Chapter 76: Let’s See What You Do
The faculty break room carried the stale scent of coffee, printer paper, and cigarette smoke that had clung to someone’s coat long after they came inside.
Cyrus sat across from Daphne Whitlock at a low table beside the window. Beyond the glass partition, several teachers moved through the larger office, talking over lesson plans, grading papers, and complaining about the copier like it had personally betrayed them.
There were enough people nearby that Daphne should behave.
Cyrus had not forgotten that she had a talent for making reasonable expectations feel naive.
"I heard you wanted to see me," he said. "What did you need?"
Daphne folded her hands over one knee.
"Why did you skip my class?"
Cyrus did not bother pretending he had been sick.
"I did not want to be in your class."
The answer sounded sulky even to him, but Daphne did not react as though he had insulted her. She only tipped her head slightly and said, "You should be careful with that attitude. Your award is based on improvement, and you do not want anyone questioning whether you earned it."
The warning was delivered softly.
That did not make it less pointed.
Daphne reached beside her and set a food container on the table between them. The same insulated lunch box from that morning sat there, still neatly packed.
"I brought this to your apartment before school," she said. "You left earlier than usual."
Cyrus looked at the lunch box.
He had avoided her door, changed his route, and arrived early enough that he thought he had escaped the first part of her day. Apparently, she had still been waiting outside his apartment with breakfast in hand.
The thought made the food feel less comforting.
Still, he accepted it.
Daphne could not see his expression clearly through his bangs, but she saw the lunch box disappear into his hands.
Cyrus turned the container once, then looked back up.
"Is this supposed to be compensation for what you did to one of your students?"
Daphne’s mouth curved in a way that showed no regret.
"It is a teacher showing reasonable concern for a student."
"After what you did to that student?"
Daphne did not look away.
"Didn’t Cory enjoy it too?"
The room went still around Cyrus.
He had come in with his recorder running quietly inside his jacket pocket, hoping Daphne might say something he could use later. He had expected her to get careless. He had expected guilt, denial, or at least a moment of hesitation.
Instead, she gave him a line that was slippery enough to mean nothing to anyone who heard it out of context.
Cyrus could not even push the conversation toward his transformation. There were teachers visible through the glass, close enough to notice if he began asking why Daphne wanted him to become Cory again.
Daphne watched him with focused patience.
Her attention made his skin crawl.
She looked as though she expected him to shrink at any moment, as if she had only to wait long enough and his body would obey her curiosity.
Cyrus changed the subject before his silence became too obvious.
"Are you waiving my rent this month?"
Daphne gave a low laugh.
The sound carried enough amusement to make him regret asking before she even answered.
"That depends on what Cory is willing to do."
Cyrus’s fingers tightened around the lunch box.
Daphne leaned back in her chair.
"If Cory behaves, I can handle all three meals every day," she said. "I could waive this month’s rent too. I might even refund what you paid last month."
She said it lightly, as though she were discussing an ordinary arrangement between a landlord and tenant.
Cyrus heard the hook beneath every word.
Food. Rent. A refund. All of it was exactly the sort of offer he needed. He had a small apartment, a part-time job, medicine to pay for, and a bank balance that seemed to disappear faster whenever life became complicated.
Daphne knew that.
She knew it well enough to make the offer sound generous instead of threatening.
Cyrus did not answer.
He took the lunch box from the table, stood, and headed for the door.
Daphne watched him leave without trying to stop him.
That somehow made it worse.
Outside the office, Cyrus let out a breath he had been holding since he walked in.
The recording had not captured anything useful. Daphne had not admitted to threatening him, forcing him to transform, locking him inside his apartment, or using the building footage against him. She had been careful. Far too careful.
He had underestimated her from the beginning.
The cameras had appeared without warning. Daphne had access to them. She had figured out Cory’s connection to him faster than she should have, and now she knew exactly which offers were difficult for him to refuse.
Cyrus glanced down at the lunch box in his hands.
The smarter move would be to install a camera inside his apartment. He needed proof of what Daphne did when she thought no one could see. If she came over again and pushed him into another corner, he wanted something more useful than his own word.
The problem was that he did not have a camera yet.
Buying one would take time, money, and a delivery he did not want showing up at the apartment while Daphne had access to the building.
Tonight would come first.
Cyrus had no idea how he was supposed to handle her tonight.
The thought followed him all the way back to class.
Ms. Hart was already reviewing the previous math exam by the time Cyrus returned. She stood at the front of the room with a stack of marked papers, her glasses low on her nose as she went through common mistakes and reminded everyone that guessing did not count as a strategy.
Near the end of the review, she looked toward the back row.
"Cyrus has made serious progress this term," she said. "His classwork, homework, and test scores have all improved. That is exactly what consistent effort looks like."
Several heads turned.
Cyrus sat in his corner with his usual dark hair hanging across his face, looking as though he had received the compliment by accident.
The attention lasted only a few seconds, but it still made him want to sink lower in his chair.
A few students glanced toward Faye Larkin in the seat ahead of him. She sat with her back straight as always, her pencil resting neatly beside her notebook. She did not turn around, though the faint color near her ears suggested she had heard every word.
Ms. Hart set the test papers down.
"There is one more thing," she said. "The school has confirmed the date for the Fall Festival. It will be held in the middle of the month, so you should start thinking about booth ideas, activities, and what your class wants to contribute."
The room changed at once.
Students who had been half-awake during the exam review sat up. Conversations began before Ms. Hart even finished speaking. Someone suggested food booths. Another student argued that games made more money. A boy near the window said the class should do something simple because nobody ever wanted to stay late for cleanup.
Cyrus listened with quiet interest.
A school festival sounded like the sort of normal experience people remembered later. It involved food, crowds, games, temporary decorations, and a reason for students to become louder than usual.
It also sounded fun.
He did not know what St. Alder’s festival would be like, but he wanted to see it.
By lunch, the packed meal in his bag saved him a trip to the cafeteria and spared him the cost of buying something from the campus store.
That alone made the situation complicated.
Daphne’s food came with pressure, but it was also practical. Buying lunch every day seemed cheap until the small expenses began piling up. A few dollars here, another drink there, a snack after class, and suddenly his money had vanished before he could decide whether it had been worth spending.
The meal had cooled a little by the time he opened it.
Cyrus did not mind.
His body ran colder than most people’s, and food that had lost some heat was often easier to eat than a meal that came out steaming. Daphne’s cooking was good too, which only made the arrangement more annoying.
Among the people Cyrus knew, Faye was probably the better cook.
That was not an entirely fair comparison. He had only eaten food made by Faye and Daphne often enough to judge, but Faye’s meals had a little more care in them. Daphne’s food was good because she was skilled. Faye’s was good because she seemed to pay attention to what people liked.
Cyrus ate at his desk.
He was not the only one. Around the room, students dragged chairs together in small groups, unpacked lunches, traded snacks, and talked over one another as if the next class did not exist.
Nobody paid much attention to the boy in the corner eating alone.
Cyrus had considered finding somewhere outside to eat, but the October heat had not completely given up yet. The sun through the courtyard windows looked bright enough to make his skin feel unpleasant, and the classroom had air-conditioning.
He chose air-conditioning.
After he finished eating, Cyrus put his head down on his folded arms.
The room gradually filled again as lunch ended.
He was not asleep, but he kept his eyes closed and let the background conversations blur together. It was easier than making people think he wanted to join them.
A group near the front was still debating the Fall Festival.
"We should do something that does not require anyone to dress up," one girl said. "Nobody wants to wear a costume for six hours."
"I think a photo booth would make more money," someone replied. "People always want pictures."
"That only works if we have enough people to run it."
Then another voice joined in.
"Did you hear that Audra helped Cyrus with tutoring?"
A chair scraped.
"Seriously? Audra Sloane?"
"That is what I heard. His grades started improving after they began meeting."
"Maybe she likes him."
A burst of laughter followed.
"Please keep saying things like that," someone said. "You are making this lunch break better."
The conversation rolled on.
Audra was not in the classroom, and Cyrus looked asleep at his desk, so no one bothered lowering their voices. Their comments were not cruel enough to make him react. Most of them sounded more jealous than serious, focused on how Cyrus had somehow gotten lucky enough to receive help from Audra.
That was their problem.
Cyrus had no intention of standing up to explain tutoring, grades, or a cake that had already been delivered. If someone wanted to be annoyed on his behalf, they could enjoy that feeling privately.
If anyone came to say it directly to his face, he could deal with it then.
For now, he rested his cheek against his arm and ignored them.
On the fourth floor, Audra sat alone in an empty classroom with her phone pressed to her ear.
The Glamourkin Ring no longer rested on her finger.
She had threaded it onto a thin chain and worn it around her neck instead. The pink stone rested against the dark fabric of her uniform, harmless-looking in a way that made her distrust it more.
The call continued ringing.
No answer came.
Audra lowered the phone and stared at the screen.
Her grandfather was busy again.
Warren Sloane was usually easy to reach when the subject involved rare-blood research, but apparently he had chosen this moment to disappear into whatever work mattered more than answering her call.
Audra touched the ring through the chain.
What exactly was it?
Why had using it made her do something she could not explain afterward?
She remembered the stairwell with too much clarity. Cyrus’s blank expression. The cool feel of his lips. The strange satisfaction that came after she pulled away, followed immediately by the certainty that she had gone farther than she intended.
Audra’s ears warmed.
That had been her first kiss.
The realization sat in her chest with unbearable weight.
She had used the ring to control Cyrus, asked him an embarrassing question, received an answer that irritated her, and then kissed him while he could not react.
The memory made her want to hide.
It also made her wonder whether the ring had pushed her toward something she already wanted.
Audra looked down at the pink stone.
Could she still use it?