Chapter 192: No Longer Satisfied With Imagining

Chapter 192: Chapter 192: No Longer Satisfied With Imagining

Chapter 192: No Longer Satisfied With Imagining

The afternoon classes began soon after lunch ended.

Daphne Whitlock’s voice carried steadily through the classroom, still polished and clear enough that most students would never notice anything unusual.

Yet compared with her usual lessons, there was a faint distraction beneath the surface.

It became slightly more noticeable whenever her attention drifted toward the back corner. 𝖋𝘳ℯ

Nobody in the classroom seemed to notice.

Not the students listening to the lecture.

Not even the person Daphne kept looking toward.

Although, knowing Cyrus Calder, there was always the possibility that he had noticed and simply decided pretending otherwise was safer.

When the class finally ended, Daphne gathered her materials and left with a faint heaviness still lingering in her expression.

Cyrus watched her disappear through the doorway and quietly relaxed.

Her lesson today had seemed slightly worse than usual.

Not enough for anyone else to complain, but Cyrus had noticed that her attention wandered more often.

She had also looked toward him far more frequently than normal.

Fortunately, Daphne still had the public identity of a respectable St. Alder teacher to maintain.

Whatever strange thoughts she was having, she could not openly act on them during class.

If they had been alone somewhere instead, Cyrus probably would have kept his phone alarm within immediate reach.

He had no idea what Daphne was thinking now.

Maybe Vera’s presence had disturbed her.

Maybe she was planning something else.

Cyrus was still considering the possibilities when Owen spoke beside him.

"Did Ms. Whitlock seem like she was looking at you more than usual today?"

Cyrus glanced over.

"You were imagining it."

Owen gave him a doubtful look.

"Maybe, but I wouldn’t exactly blame her if she was."

He shrugged and looked Cyrus over.

Cyrus had been openly showing his face at school for long enough that the novelty should have faded.

Even so, Owen still occasionally found himself thinking that his friend looked ridiculously good.

As another guy, he could not even work up the energy to feel jealous about it.

Some differences were large enough that envy seemed pointless.

Cyrus shook his head with faint resignation and opened the comic Faye had lent him.

The rest of the afternoon passed with the same easy rhythm.

Classes ended.

The final bell rang.

Students began packing their things and drifting out of senior advisory three in groups.

Cyrus, as usual, did the opposite.

He pulled his comic back out.

He had not even finished one page when someone stopped beside his desk.

"Cyrus, are you free after school today?"

He looked up.

Audra Sloane stood beside him.

The usual coolness around her seemed softer than before.

Cyrus thought for a moment before answering.

"I’m sorry, but I have work after school."

Audra’s eyes shifted slightly.

"That’s fine. When you have some free time, could you tell me?"

"If I have time, I’ll let you know."

Cyrus answered without hesitation.

Audra did not argue or try to convince him to skip work.

She had approached him with a certain answer already in mind.

Still, some small hopeful part of her had wondered whether he might take the day off simply because she invited him.

His answer quietly removed that possibility.

Audra kept her expression steady.

"Then I’ll see you tomorrow."

"I’ll see you tomorrow."

Cyrus watched her leave.

He wondered briefly what she had wanted.

Whatever it was, she had made it sound like something that would take more than a few minutes.

His job already occupied most weekday evenings.

Normally, he could have suggested the weekend, but St. Alder’s overnight trip was happening this Saturday and Sunday.

Realistically, the next time Cyrus had a completely open day might not be until the following weekend.

Audra had not explained what she wanted, though, so he assumed it could wait.

Outside, Audra got into the car waiting for her.

She did not look especially disappointed as the school disappeared behind them.

If one invitation failed, she could simply try again.

She had successfully arranged private study sessions with Cyrus before.

There was no reason she could not ask him somewhere else later.

A quiet determination remained in her eyes.

Then her phone chimed.

Audra checked the screen.

The message was from Gemma Rhodes.

That evening, around seven, Daphne sat alone in front of her computer.

Security footage played across the screen.

She was watching the same recording again.

Vera standing outside Cyrus’s apartment.

The door opening.

Vera remaining in the hallway.

The second exchange.

Then Vera finally entering.

Daphne rewound the footage.

She watched it again.

Nothing new appeared.

No matter how many times she replayed the recording, the camera could not show what happened inside Cyrus’s apartment.

Daphne leaned back slightly.

Cyrus was rare-blooded, but rare-blood did not automatically mean every unusual problem was beyond treatment.

Human society was filled with people possessing exceptional knowledge, unusual research, and abilities that most ordinary people never encountered.

Maybe Vera really could help with his memory.

Daphne could not dismiss that possibility.

She also could not accept it without question.

If Vera truly restored Cyrus’s lost memories, then everything Daphne had been carefully building might disappear.

Cyrus could remember his family.

He could find wherever he originally came from.

He could leave Grayhaven.

And once he left this building, Daphne might never have a reason to see him again.

The thought left an unpleasant emptiness behind.

She had spent weeks making herself part of Cyrus’s routine.

Meals.

Hallway encounters.

School.

Concern.

Patience.

All of it was designed to keep her close enough that, if his memory deteriorated further, he would still recognize her as someone safe.

If Vera reversed the entire problem, that path could vanish.

Daphne sat in front of the monitor for almost an hour.

Then she abruptly stood.

A minute later, she was outside Cyrus’s apartment.

She used the spare key.

The room beyond remained exactly as she remembered.

Plain.

Cold.

Almost excessively tidy.

November had already brought real chill to Grayhaven, yet Cyrus’s apartment somehow felt cooler than the hallway outside.

Daphne entered without making a sound.

His wardrobe was fuller than it used to be.

The early selection had been almost painfully basic.

Now several expensive pieces had appeared among his ordinary clothes.

Helena’s influence, perhaps.

There was little else worth searching there.

Daphne moved toward the bed.

Then she opened the drawer and took out Cyrus’s diary.

She turned directly to the page containing the names.

Her own name was still there.

Two stars remained beside it.

Daphne still did not know exactly what those stars represented, but she preferred to interpret them positively.

Whatever Cyrus was measuring, she had earned two of them.

The later entries did not explain much.

School.

Work.

Food.

People he met.

Small worries.

Ordinary days.

If anything, reading them only confirmed that Cyrus was genuinely trying to build a normal life.

Daphne reached the newer pages.

Then she noticed something.

One page had been torn out.

Her brows tightened.

She looked toward the trash can beside the bed.

It had apparently been emptied recently, but a crumpled sheet of paper was still visible inside.

Daphne hesitated.

Then she reached down and picked it up.

She unfolded the page.

Crooked lines covered the paper.

The drawing was terrible.

Even so, one detail was unmistakable.

It was a woman.

The rough lines representing her hair extended far down the page.

Daphne stared.

Who was this?

Did Cyrus know a woman who looked like that?

She tried matching the image against every person she had seen around him.

Helena did not fit.

Rhea did not fit.

Vera did not fit.

Audra did not fit either.

No answer came.

Daphne carefully folded the page.

For a moment, she considered keeping it.

Then she stopped.

Taking it would leave evidence.

Cyrus might remember throwing the paper away.

If he later checked the trash and found it gone, suspicion could follow.

That was unnecessary.

Daphne unfolded the paper again and placed it flat.

She took out her phone.

One picture was enough.

After photographing the drawing, she crumpled the page back into roughly the same shape and returned it to the trash.

Then she put the diary exactly where she had found it.

Her eyes drifted toward Cyrus’s neatly made bed.

A thought surfaced.

This was his room.

His blankets.

His scent still lingered faintly in the space.

Daphne stood still for several seconds.

Once, merely being close to traces of him might have been enough to quiet her fixation.

That was no longer true.

Staring at an empty bed and imagining the person who belonged there accomplished nothing except creating risk.

Daphne did not need another substitute.

She wanted Cyrus himself to trust her enough to stay close willingly.

And if his vulnerable younger Frostborn state ever appeared again, she needed to remember that his safety and trust were the only way she could remain in his life at all.

She turned away from the bed.

A few minutes later, Daphne returned to her own apartment as though she had never entered his.

Vera’s appearance had forced her to acknowledge something she had been avoiding.

If Daphne continued acting entirely alone, there was no guarantee she would ever get another opportunity to become more important to Cyrus.

Other people were moving too.

Vera had knowledge.

Rhea had police access.

Helena had money and influence.

Audra had daily private access at school.

Daphne could not simply assume time would always favor her.

She opened a drawer and searched through several small items.

Then she found it.

A piece of paper with a phone number written across it.

Rhea Maddox had handed it to her outside the apartment building after Halloween.

If you ever want to compare information, contact me.

Daphne unfolded the note.

Her brows remained faintly drawn together.

She stared at the number for a long time.

The hesitation in her darkened eyes did not disappear.