Chapter 190: Something to Think About

Chapter 190: Chapter 190: Something to Think About

Chapter 190: Something to Think About

At 10:14 that night, Daphne Whitlock packed the dinner she had prepared into a lunch container.

The food was still warm when she stepped into the hallway and stopped outside Cyrus Calder’s apartment.

By now, she had a fairly good sense of when he returned from work.

On most weekdays, Cyrus either arrived shortly before this time or came up the stairs only a few minutes later. His schedule at The Full Moon Lounge was usually consistent enough that Daphne could create these little coincidences without making them look too deliberate.

Part of that consistency was probably because she kept preparing dinner for him.

After all, who would turn down coming home to a warm meal from a considerate neighbor?

Daphne looked down at the container in her hands.

For a brief moment, the softness in her expression gave way to something more calculating.

Then it disappeared.

She still did not understand what the two stars beside her name in Cyrus’s diary truly meant.

But if she chose the most favorable interpretation, perhaps they reflected an improvement in how he viewed her.

That meant her efforts over the past several weeks were working.

She had no reason to rush.

All Daphne needed to do was stay patient, remain useful, and wait for Cyrus to reveal another opening.

She raised her hand and knocked softly on the door.

No answer came.

Daphne waited.

The hallway remained quiet.

She knocked again.

Still nothing.

Her brows drew together.

Had something happened at work?

Her first thought was to go to The Full Moon Lounge and check.

If she happened to meet Cyrus there, she could even offer to walk home with him.

That would fit perfectly with the role she had been maintaining.

Concerned.

Reliable.

Still trying to make up for what she had done before.

Cyrus understood guilt well enough to make use of it, and Daphne understood that he was doing exactly that.

The strange thing was that knowing did not make her stop.

She turned away from his door.

Then something outside caught her eye.

From the upper hallway, she could see part of the street beside the apartment building.

Two figures stood beneath a nearby streetlight.

At first glance, they looked almost like a couple lingering before saying good night.

Daphne would normally have looked away.

Then she recognized one of them.

Cyrus.

Her attention sharpened immediately.

Someone was leaning close against his shoulder.

From this angle, their bodies appeared uncomfortably close.

Daphne’s lips parted slightly.

What were they doing?

More importantly, what exactly was their relationship?

She wanted to call down to him.

Then she realized she had no reasonable question to ask.

She was his teacher.

His neighbor.

His landlord.

None of those gave her the right to demand an explanation about who he met after work.

A cold breeze moved through the hallway.

For some reason, Daphne’s mouth tasted bitter.

A short while later, the two figures separated.

That was when Daphne clearly saw the other person.

Vera Sable.

Of course.

So the school nurse really had come to see Cyrus again.

Daphne’s expression darkened slightly.

She remained where she was, watching from above as Cyrus and Vera passed each other.

Then Vera looked back.

For the briefest moment, her face turned upward.

Daphne could have sworn Vera smiled.

It was a bright, almost beautiful smile.

Yet from where Daphne stood, it felt suspiciously like showing off.

Cyrus looked up soon afterward.

He spotted Daphne standing in the hallway.

For a second, he felt strangely caught.

The sensation made no sense.

He had not done anything wrong.

Vera was Bloodborn.

She wanted blood.

He wanted suppressants.

That was the entire arrangement.

If anyone deserved blame for how the scene looked, it was Vera.

Cyrus turned his head and glanced back.

Vera was already beside her car.

A moment later, she drove off, leaving nothing behind except disappearing taillights.

Had she intentionally positioned herself where Daphne could see them?

Cyrus honestly did not know.

If she had, he could not figure out what she gained from it.

He gave up trying and headed upstairs.

Daphne watched him approach without moving.

Even when Cyrus reached the hallway, her expression revealed very little.

He noticed the lunch container in her hand.

Then he noticed the silence.

The dim light made the atmosphere feel heavier than it probably was.

Daphne kept looking at him.

Cyrus finally spoke first.

"Is something wrong?"

Her eyes shifted slightly.

She opened her mouth.

No words came.

Normally, Daphne was the one who knocked on his door, started conversations, brought food, and created reasons to remain nearby.

Tonight, someone else had been waiting for him.

That realization bothered her more than she wanted to admit.

In the end, Daphne simply held out the container.

Cyrus accepted it automatically.

"Thank you."

Daphne gave no answer.

She turned, unlocked her own door, and went inside.

The door closed.

Cyrus remained in the hallway with the warm container in his hands.

Something about her reaction bothered him.

He walked over to where Daphne had been standing and looked down toward the street.

From this angle, the streetlight was visible.

So was the place where he and Vera had stood.

But because of the railing and the angle of the building, Daphne probably could not have seen Vera feeding from his shoulder clearly.

What had it looked like instead?

Cyrus imagined the scene.

A man and woman standing close together late at night.

Vera leaning against him.

Their faces partly hidden.

He understood.

A quiet laugh escaped him before he could stop it.

Maybe Daphne’s expression had looked so careful because she wanted to ask but did not believe she had the right.

For a moment, Cyrus felt faintly guilty.

Then he remembered what Daphne had done before.

His conscience immediately recovered.

If anyone should feel guilty between them, it was not him.

Still, there was a practical issue.

Cyrus needed Daphne to remain useful as a safeguard.

He did not want Vera’s behavior changing how Daphne treated him.

After thinking for a few seconds, Cyrus sighed and walked to her door.

He knocked.

The door opened shortly afterward.

Daphne stood there.

The disappointment in her eyes had not completely disappeared.

Cyrus looked at her calmly.

"Vera knows something about my memory problems."

Daphne said nothing.

Cyrus continued.

"She learned about my situation by chance, and she’s been helping me with part of it."

Daphne lowered her eyes.

Helping through that kind of closeness?

She did not say it aloud.

If she had not already suspected something unusual between Cyrus and Vera, she might have accepted his explanation without question.

Now she was more careful.

The statement itself could be true.

That did not mean it contained the whole truth.

Cyrus was good at saying something technically accurate while allowing the listener to reach a much safer conclusion.

Daphne knew that now.

She had read his diary.

Still, one detail mattered more than everything else.

Cyrus had come back to explain.

He had noticed her reaction and cared enough to knock on her door.

For tonight, that was sufficient.

Whether Vera could really help with the missing memories was something Daphne could verify gradually.

There was no need to force the subject.

She lifted her eyes.

"What would you like to eat tomorrow?"

Cyrus paused.

She had not accepted or challenged his explanation.

That was fine.

"Anything is okay."

Daphne nodded.

"All right."

"Good night, Ms. Whitlock."

"Good night."

Cyrus returned to his apartment.

The food was still at exactly the right temperature.

He opened his diary first and recorded the day.

There was not much to write.

School.

Work.

Vera delivering suppressants.

Audra’s birthday gift earlier in the day was already recorded as well.

After confirming that his memories matched the recent entries, Cyrus ate dinner.

Then he took a bottled sweet drink from the refrigerator and chilled it further with a touch of Frostborn cold before drinking it.

The simple routine relaxed him.

Quiet days could be boring.

Cyrus had learned not to complain about that.

Boring meant nobody had locked him somewhere.

Nobody had forced him into anything.

Nobody had stolen another year of memory.

In two more days, St. Alder’s overnight fall trip would begin.

School, work, food, a trip with classmates, and enough money to live.

As ordinary lives went, Cyrus thought this one was pretty good.

Then his eyes dropped toward the ring on his hand.

His mood immediately worsened.

A new thought occurred to him.

If the ring kept stealing memories, what happened when he eventually forgot Isolde’s face?

His diary could warn his future self that Isolde Calder was dangerous.

It could explain the village.

The black room.

The captivity.

The ring.

But descriptions had limits.

If Isolde walked up to him after he forgot what she looked like, Cyrus might not recognize her at all.

With her ability to act gentle when she wanted, she could probably gain his trust before he even realized something was wrong.

By then, he might not have enough time to use Audra, Daphne, Rhea, or any of his other safeguards against her.

That was unacceptable.

Cyrus opened the diary again.

He turned to a fresh page.

Then he tried drawing Isolde.

Five minutes later, he stared at the result.

The face on the page looked less like a dangerous beautiful woman and more like a badly injured vegetable.

Cyrus remained expressionless.

He tore the page out.

Apparently drawing was not one of his talents.

He would need another method.

The next morning, Cyrus woke after spending far too much of the night thinking about the problem.

While washing up, he silently complained about how backward the Frostborn village had been.

No phones.

No cameras.

Barely any modern electronics.

If even one photograph of Isolde existed, he could simply save copies in several places and be done with the problem.

Instead, he was trying to preserve her appearance through a drawing that looked criminally bad.

Cyrus swallowed his suppressants and left his apartment.

Daphne was already waiting outside.

She handed him a sandwich.

Then, after a short hesitation, she asked, "Has Vera actually helped with your memory loss?"

Cyrus accepted the food.

"She can help with parts of it. It doesn’t solve the real problem."

Daphne considered the answer.

So the treatment explanation might actually contain some truth.

Memory loss was already known among people at The Full Moon Lounge, which meant Cyrus was not inventing the entire issue for her benefit.

Daphne also knew his condition was not a normal human illness.

That part she was certain about.

She knew little about Vera beyond the fact that the woman was medically competent and had unusually strong connections.

If Vera could genuinely treat something related to rare-blood biology, then her abilities went far beyond those of an ordinary school nurse.

That raised another question.

Why would someone like that choose to work at St. Alder?

Daphne could think of only one likely answer.

Some private motive.

She understood private motives rather well herself.

Perhaps Vera had one involving Cyrus too.

Daphne kept those thoughts to herself.

"I hope she really can help you recover what you lost."

Her voice sounded sincere.

"If you ever need anything from me, tell me."

Cyrus nodded.

"Thank you."

He started walking toward school.

For some reason, Daphne’s continued willingness to support him created a faintly uncomfortable feeling.

She did not complain.

She did not demand answers.

She simply kept helping.

Cyrus looked down at the sandwich in his hand.

Then he reminded himself exactly who Daphne was.

He could not afford to become careless just because she was behaving well now.

If she ever found the right opportunity, he doubted the result would be harmless.

His diary needed clearer instructions.

If he lost his memories, future Cyrus had to know how to use Daphne as a safeguard without mistaking her for someone completely safe.

That would be important.

By the time Cyrus reached St. Alder, the thought about Isolde’s appearance had returned.

He entered senior advisory three and sat down.

Owen arrived soon after.

Cyrus looked at him.

"Owen."

Owen turned.

"What’s up?"

Cyrus studied his friend’s open, dependable expression.

Then he asked the question that had been bothering him since last night.

"Are you good at drawing?"

Owen answered immediately.

"Not really."

Then he looked confused.

"Why? What do you need drawn?"

Cyrus did not bother hiding it.

"There’s someone I need help drawing."