I Escaped the Cage, but the Yandere Women Found Me

Chapter 87: Chapter 87: The Fall Festival, Part Two

Chapter 87: The Fall Festival, Part Two

Monday’s classes passed in the familiar cycle of lectures, short breaks, half-finished conversations, and Cyrus trying to read Faye’s manga without letting a teacher catch him.

By the final bell, the school had already taken on that loose, restless mood that came before everyone scattered home. Students packed bags too quickly, chairs scraped across the floor, and someone near the windows was still arguing about the Fall Festival even while the teacher dismissed them.

Cyrus left with the manga tucked inside his backpack.

The first volume had almost reached its end.

That was dangerous.

He had learned enough from the story to understand that the next part would probably contain a major fight, a sudden betrayal, or some dramatic revelation that would make it difficult to put down. Faye had promised she could bring him the next volume when he finished, which meant he needed to pace himself.

That was easier said than done.

A few hours later, Cyrus arrived for his shift at The Full Moon Lounge.

The place had the same warm, low-lit atmosphere as always. Glasses reflected the amber pendant lights above the bar, quiet music drifted from the speakers, and the sea air slipped through every time someone opened the front door.

The customers were sparse.

Some nights, the lounge filled enough that Cyrus barely had time to wipe the counter between orders. Other nights, the room stayed so empty that he could count every drink sold without needing the register.

Tonight leaned toward the second kind.

By the time the shift ended, they had sold barely more than a dozen drinks.

Cyrus stood behind the counter, drying a glass while Malcolm Baird finished closing out the register.

The numbers made Cyrus uneasy.

He had worked enough retail jobs to understand that businesses needed customers. A lounge could not survive on a handful of regulars nursing drinks for three hours, no matter how nice the lighting was.

Malcolm, however, looked entirely unbothered.

He had one sleeve rolled to his elbow and a receipt in his hand, reading the totals with the same calm attention someone might give a grocery list.

Cyrus hesitated before speaking.

"Mr. Baird, if business stays this slow, you could cut my hours a little. Or my pay. I would understand."

Malcolm looked up.

"You do not need to worry about that."

"I mean it," Cyrus said. "You do not have to keep paying me the same if I am barely making drinks."

Malcolm set the receipt down.

"The lounge is doing fine," he said. "You should worry about school, sleep, and whatever assignment is making you stare at your textbooks like they insulted your family."

Cyrus looked away.

Math had not insulted him personally.

It had simply made every attempt at understanding it feel personal.

Malcolm gave him an easy smile.

"You show up, you work hard, and customers like you. That is enough. Keep your grades moving in the right direction."

The answer left Cyrus with an uncomfortable warmth in his chest.

Malcolm did not push him for details. He did not ask why Cyrus needed the job so badly or why his schoolwork sometimes looked like a life-or-death struggle. He offered a paycheck, trusted Cyrus to do the work, and asked him to focus on being a student.

Cyrus could work at The Full Moon Lounge forever.

That was, assuming no obsessive woman decided to appear there and ruin the whole arrangement.

By the time he reached his apartment building, it was already after ten.

Daphne Whitlock had apparently timed her evening well.

She stood outside apartment 202 with a covered dinner container in her hands. Her hair was down, her clothes were casual, and the expression on her face had been arranged into something gentle enough to pass for harmless if Cyrus had not known better.

"Dinner is ready," she said. "You worked late again."

Cyrus stopped near his door.

The personal alarm rested inside his jacket pocket.

He had started carrying it everywhere.

Daphne noticed the small movement of his hand, though she said nothing about it.

"I brought you something warm," she continued. "You should eat before you sleep."

Cyrus took the container.

The food smelled good.

That was unfortunate.

Before the alarm, he might have felt grateful enough to lower his guard. Now he inspected the lid, the seal, and the shape of the container with the seriousness of someone reviewing evidence.

Daphne watched him.

"The food is safe," she said.

"You keep saying that because you know you are suspicious."

"I keep saying it because you keep checking."

"That is not a denial."

Daphne sighed through her nose.

Cyrus opened the container inside his apartment, leaving the front door partially open while he checked the food. The meal looked normal. It smelled normal. After a cautious bite, it tasted as good as everything Daphne cooked.

No strange flavor lingered under the seasoning.

No strange dizziness followed.

That did not mean he trusted her.

It only meant she had not done anything obvious tonight.

Daphne leaned against the hall wall outside his door.

"You could at least eat inside my apartment," she said. "It would be warmer."

"My apartment has heating."

"You barely use it."

"My apartment also has an exit."

Daphne did not answer that.

Cyrus closed the door before she could make another offer.

The dinner saved him money, which was useful. It also saved him from taking another suppressant dose that night, which mattered even more. He could stay in, study, eat, and sleep without needing to spend hours outside where Daphne might decide to follow him again.

That did not mean he had forgiven her.

It only meant free food remained free food.

He sat at the small table in his apartment, ate the entire meal, then checked the personal alarm beside his phone before opening another page of homework.

The yellow device had become one of his favorite possessions.

Daphne had cameras.

He had noise.

That was not a perfect balance, but it was enough to make her hesitate.

Wednesday morning arrived with a different energy across St. Alder Academy.

By the time Cyrus reached campus, students were already carrying poster board, rolls of tape, cardboard panels, paper decorations, and bags of supplies toward different buildings. Someone near the front steps dragged a box full of fake spiderwebs across the pavement. A group from another class was arguing about paint colors beside the fountain.

The Fall Festival had not even started yet.

The school already felt different.

Cyrus entered the building with his backpack hanging from one shoulder and watched two students struggle to fit a large cardboard display through the main doors.

The whole thing looked excessive.

It also looked fun.

Inside their homeroom, the mood had spread.

Classmates who usually spent the morning half-asleep seemed fully awake. Several students had notebooks open. Others had already formed small groups around desks, talking over each other about food booths, games, costumes, ticket prices, and which classes were likely to do something embarrassing.

Ms. Hart arrived earlier than usual.

She stood at the front of the room while Iris Wexley and Owen Keats joined her near the board.

"Since the Fall Festival is next week," Ms. Hart said, "you have time this morning to settle on a class project. I expect everyone to contribute something, even if it is only helping with setup or cleanup."

The room erupted.

Suggestions came from every side.

"We should sell food."

"Food is expensive, and somebody has to cook all of it."

"A photo booth would be easy."

"Easy for who? Somebody still has to make all the props."

"What about a haunted house?"

"We would need costumes."

"That is the point."

"A haunted house would be fun if people actually commit."

"People will commit if we make it scary enough."

Cyrus stayed in his corner seat with Faye in front of him.

Neither of them spoke during the first wave of arguments.

Faye had her hands folded over her notebook, listening with the same calm attention she gave almost everything. Cyrus watched students negotiate with the intensity of people trying to settle a national crisis, all because they could not agree whether fake blood was worth the cleanup.

It was entertaining.

He did not understand half the logistics, but he understood the general excitement.

People liked having a reason to make a mess together.

After nearly half an hour of discussion, the class finally reached a decision.

They would build a haunted house.

The idea gathered enough support that the remaining objections faded under the noise of everyone immediately offering suggestions. Some students volunteered to make props. Others wanted to handle the decorations. A few people claimed they could help with costumes and makeup.

Someone proposed a maze.

Someone else pointed out that their classroom was not large enough to build a maze without trapping the fire marshal inside it.

The debate continued.

Ms. Hart watched from the front with a look of restrained amusement.

Once the students had a clear direction, she quietly stepped back and let Iris and Owen take over the planning. The two of them were used to organizing the class, and the work began dividing itself into practical pieces.

Props.

Decorations.

Scare actors.

Costumes.

Supply lists.

Cleanup.

Signs.

A group near the door took responsibility for cardboard walls and fake cobwebs. Another group claimed the makeup supplies. A few students began researching cheap lighting effects on their phones.

Cyrus did not volunteer for anything.

He was still trying to understand why anyone would want to spend their weekend building fake walls inside a classroom.

Faye remained quiet too, though she listened whenever someone mentioned handmade decorations.

Owen wrote names on the board as classmates volunteered.

When most of the jobs had been divided, he checked the list again.

"We still need two people to go shopping for supplies on Saturday," he said. "Iris and I will handle the final list, but we need two more people to help carry things and make sure nobody forgets half the materials."

His eyes moved across the classroom.

"Faye, are you free that day?"

Faye looked apologetic.

"I cannot make time on Saturday. I am sorry."

"That is okay," Owen said. "Would you be able to help make some smaller props before then?"

"I can do that."

Owen added her name beside handmade decorations.

Then he looked toward Cyrus.

"Cyrus, are you free on Saturday?"

Cyrus lifted his head.

He had planned to keep the weekend open in case he needed to avoid Daphne, replace his snacks, or buy something useful for his apartment. A group shopping trip sounded safer than staying alone in the building all day.

"I can help that day," he said.

Owen’s shoulders eased.

That was good.

Cyrus had transferred recently, and Owen had been trying to include him without making it obvious. A school festival was exactly the kind of thing that could help someone become part of a class without forcing them into a deep conversation or expecting them to perform friendship on command.

Faye would not be there, which made it less convenient. She was one of the few people Cyrus seemed comfortable around.

Still, the plan could work.

Owen opened his mouth to ask for one more volunteer.

"I am free that day."

The voice came from across the room.

Several students looked up.

Audra had spoken.

She sat near the windows with her hands resting on her desk, her expression composed enough that nobody could tell whether she had volunteered on impulse or planned it all along.

Owen paused.

Iris glanced toward him.

For half a second, they shared the same thought.

Audra was volunteering for a Saturday shopping trip.

With Cyrus.

Owen recovered first.

"That works," he said. "Then Iris, Cyrus, Audra, and I will handle the shopping."

A student near the back raised a hand.

"Could I come too?"

Owen smiled.

"We only need four people. You can take my spot if you would like to organize the receipts, carry boxes, keep track of the list, and make sure nobody wanders off."

The class laughed.

The student lowered his hand.

Cyrus rested his forehead against his folded arms.

He had wanted to help with the festival.

He had not expected Audra to volunteer for the same job.

Owen looked toward the back corner, then toward Audra.

Audra’s interest had been becoming more noticeable.

Maybe she had figured something out about Cyrus.

Maybe she simply wanted to spend time with him.

Either way, Owen decided Cyrus probably had his own way of dealing with it.