Chapter 162: Led Astray

Chapter 162: Chapter 162: Led Astray

Chapter 162: Led Astray

The two kids at home wanted me to ask whether you have time to come over tomorrow.

The timing was almost funny.

A small smile appeared in Cyrus Calder’s eyes.

He had only just been thinking about how long it had been since he last saw Miles and Lena.

He typed his reply.

I have time tomorrow.

Faye’s answer came almost immediately.

Then I will see you Saturday.

Cyrus sent one more message.

I will see you then.

He put his phone away and happened to notice Faye’s back relax slightly in the seat ahead of him.

Most of the times she invited him over, it seemed to be because her younger siblings wanted to see him.

Maybe that was partly his fault.

Cyrus rarely thought to invite himself to someone else’s home.

From what he understood about ordinary American social habits, regularly showing up at someone’s house usually required a fairly close relationship.

Faye probably would not complain even if he visited often.

She was simply too gentle for that.

That was exactly why Cyrus did not want to take advantage of her kindness.

A person being easygoing did not mean everyone around them should constantly use that generosity for their own convenience.

The bell rang through the classroom.

Students gradually returned their attention to the front.

When Daphne Whitlock entered, at least half the room watched her walk toward the teacher’s desk.

She had long since become accustomed to that sort of attention.

Her eyes moved briefly across the classroom.

When they reached the back corner, the smallest change passed through them.

Cyrus no longer hid behind his old hairstyle.

Sitting quietly at his desk with his actual appearance exposed, he gave off a distant, almost chilly impression that discouraged casual approach despite how noticeable he had become.

The moment Cyrus began lifting his head, their eyes met.

Daphne looked away almost immediately.

Her expression remained composed.

At least his seat was in the corner.

The thought appeared before she could stop it.

She turned toward the stack of graded exams on the desk.

"We are going over the language arts exam today. Overall, the class performed better than last time."

Daphne began returning the papers one by one.

Whenever a student approached the front, she offered a short comment.

"You improved quite a bit. Keep working at this pace."

Another student stepped up.

"Your argument was stronger this time. Keep developing it."

Cyrus remained near the back.

Because the exams had not been stacked in seating order, his happened to be near the bottom.

That gave him plenty of time.

He quietly placed the comic Faye had lent him behind his textbook and continued reading.

The questions Daphne was explaining were ones he had already answered correctly.

As long as he listened whenever she reached something useful, Cyrus saw no reason to waste the rest of the time staring at the board.

Eventually, Daphne reached the final papers.

"Cyrus Calder."

Cyrus looked up.

From where he sat, he could only see Daphne’s lowered eyes as she studied his exam.

His handwriting was neat and recognizable.

So was the score.

Daphne’s attention lingered longer than necessary.

Cyrus walked to the front and stopped beside the desk.

"You did well on this exam."

Cyrus accepted the paper.

"Thank you, Ms. Whitlock."

He gave a small nod and returned to his seat.

Daphne watched him only halfway across the room before forcing her attention back toward the lesson.

Her voice remained smooth as she began explaining the next section.

Inside, her thoughts were far less orderly.

At first, much of what she had done for Cyrus had come from her own selfish impulses.

She could admit that now.

But later, especially after learning more about how alone he was, she had genuinely wanted to help him.

The meals had become more than excuses to see him.

The concern about his memory had become real.

She had worried about him living alone.

She had wondered whether he had anyone to rely on if something happened.

Then she found the diary.

Cyrus’s clean handwriting had laid out his thinking with infuriating clarity.

Daphne Whitlock might become useful.

Her guilt could be redirected.

Her concern could be turned into protection.

Somewhere along the way, her sincere care had become part of Cyrus’s plan.

Daphne picked up a piece of chalk.

She wrote another point on the board.

The chalk dust clung to her fingertips.

She rubbed it away almost absently and reached for a fresh piece.

Unfortunately, the diary had only confirmed that Cyrus was planning for what would happen after losing his memories.

It never clearly explained what he expected to cause the loss.

Was the timing unpredictable?

Had something not happened yet?

Daphne’s eyes remained on the board.

If only there were a method that could accelerate the process without leaving obvious evidence.

Nobody in the classroom noticed anything unusual.

The person occupying most of Daphne’s thoughts was still reading a comic behind his textbook.

Cyrus had answered the current question correctly.

That was good enough for him.

By lunch, Daphne sat alone near a second-floor cafeteria window.

The food in front of her might as well have had no flavor.

Her thoughts kept circling the same problem.

How could she get Cyrus into that vulnerable younger form willingly?

More importantly, could she speed up his memory loss somehow?

Daphne no longer believed the transformation itself necessarily caused the problem.

Cyrus might have told Rhea or someone else that story for convenience, but his diary did not support it clearly enough.

There had to be another trigger.

Unfortunately, Cyrus had not recorded enough detail for Daphne to identify it.

She mechanically took another bite.

Should she simply wait for his memory to disappear naturally?

Or should she take advantage of the time before that happened and secure something for herself first?

The two options were not mutually exclusive.

Daphne stopped chewing for a moment.

Somehow, every path brought her back to the same question.

How far was she willing to go with Cyrus?

There was another practical problem.

He had money now.

Enough that he had casually offered to pay rent early.

That weakened one of the easiest ways Daphne could keep him close.

If Cyrus had little money, providing housing and meals created dependence.

If he had savings and a job, he could leave whenever the situation became uncomfortable enough.

Daphne could not think of a reliable way to prevent him from moving.

Then again, she understood his perspective.

If her own neighbor were obsessed with forcing her into a childlike state for personal gratification, she would probably move too.

Actually, Daphne corrected herself, she would probably make the neighbor move first.

A thought flashed through her mind.

She almost caught it.

Then a familiar voice interrupted.

"Ms. Whitlock, good afternoon."

Daphne looked up.

Vera Sable stood beside the table carrying her lunch.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Sable."

Vera sat across from her.

Over the past several weeks, the two had encountered each other often enough in the faculty cafeteria that sharing a table no longer felt unusual.

They were both young professionals, both well regarded at St. Alder, and to Daphne’s mild surprise, they had found a reasonable amount to talk about.

The thought that had just occurred to her disappeared completely.

A moment later, Vera sighed.

It was neither loud nor subtle enough to ignore.

Daphne looked across the table.

"What happened?"

Vera’s expression carried obvious concern.

"There is something I heard recently that has been bothering me."

Daphne waited.

Vera turned her attention toward the window.

"A friend of mine works as a school nurse at another private school. She told me something about a few students there."

"What kind of situation?"

Vera frowned.

"Apparently some of them have been making very poor choices outside school."

Her voice carried the careful discomfort of a medical professional discussing something unpleasant.

"At that age, students can be surprisingly willing to lower their boundaries if they think they are getting something important in return."

Daphne’s attention sharpened.

Vera sighed again.

"Money, expensive things, attention, whatever they happen to want. Sometimes they convince themselves it is harmless because nothing bad has happened yet."

She paused.

"Then one of them ended up with an infection."

Daphne went still.

She understood immediately what Vera was implying.

A teenager exchanging intimacy for money or material benefits.

Daphne lowered her eyes.

"That is unfortunate."

"It really is."

Vera picked lightly at her lunch.

"They are young enough to believe they are in control right up until something proves they are not."

Daphne sighed.

"If nobody gives them proper guidance, or if they are under enough pressure, I suppose it is easy to end up going down the wrong path."

Her voice slowed near the end.

Something had clicked.

The expensive new phone.

Cyrus’s sudden confidence about rent.

The way he recently seemed far less worried about money.

The private outings.

Daphne’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth.

She remembered the phone first.

It was far more expensive than anything Cyrus would normally buy for himself.

He had explained that Helena gave it to him after taking him shopping.

Then there was the money.

Cyrus had recently spoken as though next month’s rent barely mattered.

His job at The Full Moon Lounge paid him, certainly.

But did it pay that well?

Daphne’s appetite disappeared.

She began mentally reviewing everything that had changed over the past few weeks.

The new clothes.

The new phone.

The nights when Cyrus did not come straight home.

His casual mention of improved income.

The fact that he was attractive enough to draw attention almost everywhere once he stopped hiding his appearance.

Vera quietly watched the realization form.

She did not add anything.

There was no need.

A good story worked better when the listener supplied the conclusion herself.

Across the table, Daphne’s expression had become increasingly thoughtful.

One question now pushed everything else aside.

Where exactly was Cyrus getting all that money?