Chapter 134: Layers Upon Layers

Chapter 134: Chapter 134: Layers Upon Layers

Chapter 134: Layers Upon Layers

By the time Cyrus Calder and Helena Baird finally left the clothing store, they had spent far longer inside than Cyrus had expected.

He had changed outfits until the fitting room felt like a second workplace, and because he had not eaten since the school physical earlier that day, the growl from his stomach had eventually settled the question of what came next.

Helena took him to a restaurant elsewhere in the shopping center.

Cyrus had no complaints.

Once the food arrived, he stopped thinking about expensive clothes, strange school nurses, and the danger of accepting too many favors from wealthy women. He ate properly and, by the time the last plate was cleared, felt human society deserved another point in its favor.

People really had no limit when it came to finding new ways to make food taste better.

The only disappointing part was the restaurant itself.

The place looked expensive enough that Cyrus could not imagine coming here alone anytime soon. Even the lighting seemed costly. The tableware had weight to it, the servers moved without making noise, and the portions were arranged with the kind of care that probably added several dollars before anyone took a bite.

Maybe one day he could afford to come here by himself.

That future seemed very distant.

Something else bothered him more.

When Helena finished eating, she exchanged a few words with a server and simply walked out.

There was no bill placed on the table.

No card.

No cash.

Not even the little pause where humans pretended not to look at the total before paying.

Cyrus followed her into another store, this one filled with smaller accessories and decorative items, still wondering whether he had somehow missed the transaction.

Helena was examining a row of small ornaments when she seemed to notice his confusion.

"A good portion of this shopping center belongs to my family," she said. "You do not need to worry about the cost. Treat today as helping me look for inspiration."

"That explains it."

Cyrus nodded.

After watching her choose between two small decorative pieces, he asked, "Helena, do you work in writing?"

"I write a little as a hobby."

That confirmed a suspicion Cyrus had carried for some time.

Helena had visited St. Alder’s school event because she had been stuck on something she was writing and wanted a change of surroundings. Afterward, she had apparently used the campus atmosphere as material, and the resulting story had received a good response from her readers.

Bringing Cyrus out today therefore came with an entirely legitimate explanation.

She needed visual references.

She wanted inspiration.

The fact that she also enjoyed dressing him in clothes she liked could remain a private benefit.

"There may be more things like this later," Helena said. "Today worked better than I expected."

"That is fine with me."

Cyrus agreed easily.

By then, Helena had selected several small items. They left the store together and started toward the lower floor.

While walking, Helena added, "I will send you today’s payment later. Check your phone when you receive it."

"You do not need to pay me, Helena."

"I already told you not to worry about that."

Her voice remained calm.

The pressure inside it was familiar.

Cyrus went quiet.

This was not how he had imagined the conversation going.

He had planned to refuse politely. Helena would accept the gesture, perhaps think a little better of him, and the whole thing would become one more example of friends helping each other.

Instead, Helena took out her phone.

A few taps followed.

The phone in Cyrus’s pocket vibrated almost immediately.

"Accept it," she said.

Cyrus looked at her.

So she had deliberately sent it while he was standing beside her because she expected him to refuse later.

That was unfairly thorough.

He took out his phone but hesitated.

Truthfully, he did not want the money.

Helena had already helped him too many times. The lounge job, food, small conveniences, medical attention, and now an evening where she had fed him and spent hours treating him like a living clothing display all added up.

If Isolde became impossible to handle one day and Cyrus decided his safest option was to disappear from Grayhaven overnight, every favor he accepted would make leaving heavier.

He did not like owing people that much.

Helena noticed his hesitation.

"You truly do not want it?"

"I would rather not take it."

Cyrus answered honestly.

Helena studied him for a moment.

Then she nodded, apparently understanding.

Unexpected generosity could feel heavy to ordinary people. Money created obligations even when the person giving it claimed otherwise.

Cyrus relaxed slightly.

A few minutes later, his old phone was gone.

In its place sat a brand-new flagship smartphone that cost well over a thousand dollars.

Cyrus stared at the box in his hands.

The relief disappeared.

"If you do not want it, you can throw it away."

Helena delivered the sentence with the effortless composure of someone discussing a paper cup.

Cyrus slowly tilted his head.

He had no idea how to respond.

If she was going to spend this much anyway, cash would have been much better.

He had made a mistake.

He should never have tried to act noble.

The night sky had filled with scattered stars by the time Helena drove him back to his apartment building.

It was close to ten.

Cyrus got out of the car with the new phone tucked carefully into his bag and looked back through the open door.

"Drive safely."

"You should get some sleep when you go upstairs."

"I will do that."

Cyrus stepped away and watched Helena’s car pull from the curb.

He remained there until the taillights disappeared around the corner.

Then he took out the replacement phone and sighed.

That one device cost almost as much as he had earned from working at The Full Moon Lounge over a significant stretch of time.

Being rich really was wonderful.

Cyrus wanted to try being wealthy too.

A brief surge of motivation rose inside him.

It lasted several seconds.

Then laziness won.

He would keep working normally.

That sounded more realistic.

Cyrus entered the apartment building and started upstairs toward the second floor.

He had only reached the stairwell when he noticed someone sitting on the steps ahead with their head lowered.

Who sat around in an apartment stairwell this late instead of going home?

Cyrus slowed.

As he approached, he caught the faint smell of alcohol.

That answered the question.

A drunk person.

Nothing unusual.

He moved past the hunched figure and began considering whether he should tell the landlord someone was sitting in the common stairwell.

Then a familiar woman’s voice reached him from below.

"Cyrus Calder?"

He stopped.

Cyrus turned and looked down.

Under the weak stairwell light, the person finally lifted her face.

Rhea Maddox.

Cyrus stared at her.

Why was a visibly drunk detective sitting in his apartment building after ten at night?

He checked the time on his new phone, almost as if the hour might have changed while he was climbing the stairs.

It had not.

"What are you doing here?"

"I heard that woman took you away."

Rhea’s voice lacked its usual energy. Her words came slower, softer, carrying the loose weight of someone who had been drinking for hours.

Heard?

Cyrus immediately thought of Vera.

As far as he knew, Vera was the only person besides Malcolm who had seen Helena take him from the lounge. Malcolm had no reason to report the matter to Rhea.

That left the school nurse.

"Have you been drinking?"

"I am not drunk."

The last word stretched slightly.

Cyrus looked at her.

That answer was not convincing.

"Where is your phone? I can call you a ride."

Something subtle moved through Rhea’s eyes beneath the dim light.

He really was decent.

That only made her like him more.

If she were not worried that behaving badly while drunk would destroy the impression she had built over the past several weeks, she might have found a way to get herself inside his apartment tonight.

Sleeping there just once sounded far too tempting.

For a brief moment, the competitive part of her resented Helena.

Then relief replaced it.

At least Cyrus had come home.

He had not stayed out all night with Helena.

That mattered more.

Rhea’s gaze remained unfocused enough to sell the performance, but a little clarity passed through it before she obediently handed over her phone.

Cyrus accepted it.

He did not comment on how easily she gave an unlocked phone to him.

He opened the rideshare app, entered the pickup location, confirmed the destination she already had saved, and ordered a car.

Then he handed the phone back.

"The driver will be here soon."

Rhea took it and remained seated.

Cyrus leaned against the stair railing nearby to wait.

Leaving an intoxicated woman alone in the stairwell until the car arrived seemed irresponsible, especially when that woman was a police detective who had helped him before.

So he stayed.

Rhea looked up at him with a hazy expression that seemed almost too absorbed.

Cyrus became suspicious.

He had already wondered more than once whether she was truly drunk.

Rhea worked in law enforcement. She had dealt with rare-blood cases, dangerous suspects, and situations where losing control would be stupid. Someone in her position probably understood her alcohol tolerance better than most people.

Was she acting?

The possibility grew stronger the longer he watched her.

Maybe this was deliberate.

A normally serious, capable detective appearing vulnerable only in front of him.

A private contrast.

Something designed to make him feel trusted and special.

Cyrus understood.

Rhea thought she was operating several layers above him.

She believed she could stand on the third layer of the scheme and casually manipulate a man standing on the first.

Unfortunately for her, Cyrus had already seen through everything.

He could even play along.

That made him the one standing higher.

Probably.

Cyrus remained beside her in silence, appearing for all the world like a quiet young man patiently protecting a drunk woman until her ride arrived.

Neither of them spoke for a while.

The building was mostly still. Somewhere above them, water moved through old pipes. A television played faintly behind an apartment door. Outside, a car passed and briefly threw light across the stairwell window.

Then Rhea suddenly muttered like someone whose alcohol had loosened every thought she normally kept hidden.

"That woman said... when she told me you got taken away, she looked really happy."

Her voice faltered.

Rhea lifted her eyes toward him.

"Was that true?"