Chapter 79: The Way Kids Get Attached
Chapter 79: Chapter 79: The Way Kids Get Attached
Chapter 79: The Way Kids Get Attached
"Cyrus, is that you?"
The voice came from the path beyond the playground.
Cyrus lifted his head from the rope net and found Faye Larkin standing near the park entrance with two grocery bags cutting into her hands. She wore simple weekend clothes, the same low-key style she kept at school, and her hair still fell forward enough to soften her face whenever she looked down.
He had not expected to see her until later that morning.
Cyrus climbed down from the net and landed lightly on the rubberized ground beneath it.
"What are you doing out here?" Faye asked.
"I had something come up," Cyrus said. "I needed somewhere to kill time."
Faye did not ask what had happened.
The restraint made him appreciate her more than he wanted to admit. Most people heard a vague answer and treated it like an invitation to keep digging. Faye accepted that he had a reason, even if she did not know it.
"You can come over early, if you want," she said. "Miles and Lena will be happy to see you."
Cyrus glanced at the grocery bags.
"You are sure I would not be intruding?"
"I invited you," Faye said, "so you are not intruding."
That sounded fair.
"All right, then. I would like that."
Cyrus stepped closer and reached for the heavier bags.
Faye paused.
"You do not have to carry those," she said. "They are not very heavy."
"That does not mean you should carry all of them."
He took most of the groceries before she could argue further.
Faye had shifted back on instinct when he first reached for the bags, though the movement had not created enough distance to stop him. The plastic handles had left faint marks across her palms. Cyrus noticed them as he adjusted the weight in one hand.
He could carry everything without effort.
Daphne would probably have called the bags light too, then carried them one-handed while looking pleased with herself. Faye, on the other hand, had tried to manage them alone because she did not want to inconvenience anyone.
This was how people were supposed to act.
Faye was gentle, useful, a good older sister, and one of the only people Cyrus knew who could make food without attaching an obvious trap to it. Her cooking was good. Her personality was good. Even her appearance was pleasant once she stopped trying to disappear behind her hair.
The difference between sisters could be enormous.
"Thank you for helping," Faye said.
"You do not need to thank me for that."
They left the park together.
Across town, Daphne Whitlock stood in the hallway outside Cyrus’s apartment with a breakfast container in one hand and an increasingly displeased expression on her face.
She had knocked more than once.
No one answered.
After waiting longer than she wanted to admit, Daphne returned to her own apartment and opened the hallway camera feed. The footage showed Cyrus leaving far earlier than usual, moving quickly down the stairs while the building was still dark and quiet.
He had escaped before she even had a chance to offer breakfast.
Daphne clicked her tongue.
"I should have caught him first and cooked afterward."
The container in her hand had already begun to cool.
At Faye’s house, Cyrus followed her into the familiar living room.
The layout was modest but comfortable, with a couch that had clearly survived two energetic children, a small dining table near the kitchen, and a bookcase pushed against one wall. Faye set down the groceries he had not already carried into the kitchen, then slipped a cloth headband into place to keep her hair off her face.
Without the loose strands falling forward, she looked more open than she did at school.
Cyrus did not react.
Faye noticed, though she did not comment on it. She tied on an apron and moved toward the refrigerator.
"Did you eat breakfast before you came out?"
"I skipped it this morning."
"Then I will make enough for you too."
Cyrus watched her take out eggs, bread, fruit, and a carton of milk.
"You do not have to make extra because I showed up early."
"I was already going to cook," Faye said. "It is easier to make one more plate."
That was not really the point, but Cyrus did not argue.
Faye glanced toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms.
"Miles and Lena will probably need a little longer to wake up," she said. "You can wait for Miles before you start playing."
Cyrus looked toward the bookcase instead.
"Can I look through those books?"
"Go ahead," Faye said. "Most of them belonged to my dad."
The shelf held more than Cyrus expected.
There were illustrated fantasy paperbacks, thick graphic novel collections, old science-fiction magazines, and several complete series arranged in uneven rows. He recognized a few from covers he had seen in shops but never had the chance to read properly. One adventure series about a young fighter had been popular enough that even Cyrus knew the title, though he had only read one battered volume during his time in the black room.
He had not begun at the first Chapter.
The story had still pulled him in.
Faye watched him study the shelves.
"My dad was a complete genre nerd," she said, almost apologetically. "I am not sure how much of it is actually good."
Cyrus pulled the first volume of the long adventure series from the shelf.
"It looks interesting."
Faye nodded once.
"Then you can read it while I cook."
She returned to the kitchen.
Cyrus stood in front of the shelf for another moment, flipping through the books. There was enough material here to keep him occupied for weeks. A detective series filled one shelf. An old space opera filled another. There were fantasy adventures, superhero collections, and enough illustrated stories to make the room feel like it belonged to someone who had never learned to stop collecting things they loved.
Cyrus made a quiet decision.
He needed to stay on good terms with Miles and Lena.
The children were the reason he had been invited, and becoming a welcome visitor would make it much easier to come back. At minimum, he needed enough time to finish the adventure series in his hands.
He carried the book to the couch and settled into the corner.
For the first time that morning, he stopped thinking about cameras, locked doors, medication, rent, or the woman across the hall.
The story was good.
By the time Faye passed through the living room again, Cyrus had already turned several pages without realizing how much time had gone by. He had relaxed into the couch, one ankle resting over the opposite knee, the book held open in both hands.
Faye slowed beside the hall.
She did not interrupt him.
Instead, she went to wake the children.
Miles was easier.
He woke after being called twice, rolled out of bed, and began asking whether Cyrus had really arrived early. Lena required more effort. She remained buried under her blanket until Faye mentioned that Cyrus was already in the living room.
Lena sat up immediately.
Faye laughed under her breath as the younger girl hurried from bed and stumbled into the hall before fully waking up.
Cyrus noticed her small figure near the doorway while he was reading.
Lena rubbed both eyes with her fists and stood there for several seconds as though she had forgotten why she had come into the room. Then she crossed the carpet toward him in slow, sleepy steps.
Cyrus lowered the book enough to see her approach.
Lena stopped beside the couch, leaned against his side, and rested her head against his shoulder without saying anything.
Cyrus let her.
She was warm and heavy in the lazy way only a half-awake child could be. He adjusted his arm so she would not slide off the cushion, then returned to the comic with his free hand.
Lena seemed satisfied with that arrangement.
"Lena, go wash your face first," Faye called from the hallway.
At nearly the same time, Miles appeared behind her with his hair sticking up in several directions.
"You got here early," he said brightly. "Does that mean we can play for longer?"
"You need breakfast and teeth brushed before you play," Faye said.
Miles nodded fast enough to make his hair bounce.
"I will do it right now."
Lena frowned at the interruption, as though everyone had deliberately ruined a perfectly good morning by demanding basic hygiene.
Cyrus closed the book and set it aside.
The scene made him smile despite himself.
Faye stood in the hallway with the tired authority of someone used to managing two younger siblings before she had fully woken up herself. Miles rushed toward the bathroom because he wanted to play. Lena remained pressed against Cyrus’s side because she wanted to avoid moving at all.
It was warm in a way Cyrus rarely saw.
Breakfast stayed easy even with one more person at the table.
Faye served eggs, toast, fruit, and hash browns, and Miles talked through most of the meal because he had already decided which games Cyrus needed to try. Lena ate more slowly, though she kept glancing toward Cyrus whenever Miles became too loud.
The siblings treated him with comfortable familiarity.
Faye noticed how close they sat to him.
A trace of concern moved through her expression, though she did not tell either child to back away. Their abilities had not yet reached the point where they were difficult to control, and neither of them had shown any sign of causing Cyrus harm. In the entire house, Faye was the only one who truly needed to pay attention to what she did.
She kept that thought to herself.
Cyrus did not notice her concern.
He was too busy deciding that Faye’s breakfast was better than Daphne’s noodles, which only made the situation more irritating. Daphne had access to his apartment, cameras, rent, and too much physical strength. Faye had food, a welcoming home, and a shelf full of comics.
The comparison felt unfair.
It was still obvious.
After breakfast, Miles pulled out the game console before anyone could suggest cleaning up first.
Lena climbed into Cyrus’s lap without asking and settled there with complete confidence, apparently planning to watch the game from the safest possible seat.
The position made it harder to hold the controller.
It did not stop Cyrus from playing.
Miles had been talking confidently during breakfast. He had explained the controls, named his favorite character, and warned Cyrus that he had become much better since the last time they played together.
Cyrus listened with the seriousness of someone receiving battlefield instructions.
Then he beat him.
The first round ended quickly.
Miles frowned at the screen.
"That one did not count," he said. "You did not know what you were doing yet."
Cyrus looked down at the controller.
"I knew enough to win."
The second round lasted longer.
Miles learned from the first loss and began taking the game seriously. He stopped narrating every move and leaned closer to the screen. Lena watched from Cyrus’s lap, occasionally clapping when one of the characters launched an especially dramatic attack.
Cyrus beat him again.
By the third round, Miles was fully focused.
Cyrus had improved since the last time he played with them. He had learned the timing, understood which moves created openings, and stopped pressing buttons with the optimism of someone who believed effort alone could defeat a stronger opponent.
Against two children, he was practically unstoppable.
Lena leaned back against him and giggled when Miles lost another match.
Cyrus rested one hand on the controller and allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.
He had gotten better.
Defeating two kids at a video game had never felt so earned.