Chapter 26: Chapter 26: You Change Your Look Too?

Chapter 26: You Change Your Look Too?

Cyrus remembered seeing a park security office somewhere past the main path.

That was the plan. He would bring the two children there, hand them over to an adult with a uniform and a phone, and leave before anyone decided he needed to fill out paperwork. Helping people was acceptable. Becoming part of an official report was much less appealing.

He glanced back over his shoulder.

The boy and girl followed at a careful distance, close enough not to lose him, far enough to make it clear they still had some sense of stranger danger. Cyrus appreciated that much. Children were noisy, unpredictable, and far too willing to cry in public, but these two at least had survival instincts.

He had heard ordinary people talk about good karma. He had no idea how much one lost-child rescue was worth, or whether karma worked on rare-bloods who were hiding from several different kinds of trouble.

Still, helping two children reach a security office had to count for something.

It was better than the other kind of accounting he knew, the kind that ended with locked doors, removed choices, and his body treated like someone else’s property.

The thought made his mouth flatten briefly. He kept walking.

The path curved past a line of maples and low shrubs. Families moved across the park lawn in the distance, but no one seemed to notice the two children trailing after the gloomy teenager with long bangs. Cyrus checked on them every few steps, mostly to make sure they had not wandered off to chase a dog, a butterfly, or whatever else children decided was suddenly more important than staying alive.

Before they reached the main road, the boy behind him suddenly shouted, "I know how to get home now!"

The girl lifted her head too, tears still shining on her face. "I remember it too!"

Both children broke into a run.

Cyrus watched them sprint past him, small legs pumping, panic apparently replaced by a brand-new confidence that had arrived from nowhere and deserved no trust at all.

His first instinct was to let them run.

His second instinct, unfortunately, was the reasonable one.

If they disappeared after he had already stepped in, he would never stop feeling responsible for it. He had not escaped the black room just to be haunted by two lost children with poor route management.

"Slow down before you fall," he called after them.

Neither child listened.

The sun had been unpleasant before. Running under it made the heat feel personal. Cyrus followed at a controlled pace, trying not to look like he was chasing them. That would create an entirely different problem. He kept enough distance to avoid scaring anyone, but close enough to see where they turned.

Children really were trouble. One minute they cried because they were lost. The next minute they turned into tiny tour guides with no warning and far too much confidence.

The girl reached a quiet residential street first. The boy lagged behind just long enough to grab the hem of Cyrus’s shirt and pull him along, as if Cyrus were the one in danger of getting lost.

Cyrus lowered his eyes to the fist holding his shirt.

The boy’s grip was small, stubborn, and surprisingly determined.

Cyrus let himself be dragged for a few steps before adjusting his pace. If the fabric stretched, he was not buying a new shirt because a child had mistaken him for public transportation.

They stopped in front of a two-story house with pale siding, wide windows, and a neat little front garden. It looked comfortable in a way Cyrus understood only from the outside. The lawn had been trimmed. The porch had a hanging basket. Someone inside this house probably knew where all the extra blankets were kept and did not need to count coins before buying snacks.

The two children ran up the steps and knocked hard on the door.

"Faye, we’re home!" the boy shouted.

"Faye, open the door!" the girl cried, louder this time. "We came back!"

Cyrus stood several feet behind them, arms loose at his sides. When the door did not open right away, he stepped forward and pressed the doorbell once.

That did it.

Footsteps sounded inside. A lock turned. The door opened.

A girl stood in the doorway with her hair tied back in a neat ponytail, her bangs held away from her face by a simple headband. She wore a soft cardigan over a plain top and looked as if she had been interrupted halfway through a quiet afternoon at home. Without the heavy glasses and the long curtain of hair he was used to seeing from behind, her face was startlingly pretty.

Not showy. Not sharp in the way Audra was. Not immediately suspicious in the way some women had trained him to expect.

Faye Larkin looked gentle.

That made the recognition arrive late.

The little girl threw herself against Faye’s leg and started crying again, apparently reminded that crying was still available now that they had reached the door.

"Faye, we almost couldn’t find the house," the girl sobbed. "Miles took me too far."

The boy immediately protested, "Lena wanted to play on the seesaw."

Lena pressed her face harder into Faye’s cardigan. "You said you knew the way back."

"I knew it after we found the right street," Miles said, which did not help his case at all.

Faye lowered a hand to Lena’s hair and smoothed it gently. "You are both home now. Nobody is hurt, so we can talk about the rest after you calm down."

Her voice was mild, but not weak. The two children quieted faster than Cyrus expected.

Then Faye looked up.

Her attention moved from the children to Cyrus, and the calm on her face shifted. Surprise flickered through her, clear enough that he caught it before she hid it.

"Thank you for bringing them back," she said.

Cyrus had already done the part that mattered. Staying longer would only create extra complications, and extra complications had a habit of turning into women, invitations, or both.

"It was not a big deal," he said. "They remembered the way before we reached the security office."

He turned to leave.

Miles still had a fist wrapped in the hem of his shirt.

Cyrus glanced down again.

Miles looked up at him with the innocent determination of someone who had no idea how strong social pressure could be when weaponized by a child.

"You should come inside and play," Miles said.

Faye’s brows drew together slightly. "Miles, do not bother him. He already helped you."

"I’m not bothering him," Miles said. "He looks like he needs to play."

Cyrus had no immediate answer for that assessment.

Lena sniffed, then peeked around Faye’s leg. "He doesn’t look very sunny, but he was nice."

That was probably the most accurate review he had received from anyone in this world.

Faye looked embarrassed on the children’s behalf. "I’m sorry about them. They’re still worked up."

Cyrus tugged lightly at his shirt. Miles did not let go.

Faye sighed, then looked at Cyrus with a polite kind of helplessness. "Would you like to come in for tea? You do not have to stay long."

Cyrus should have refused.

A stranger’s house was a bad idea. A classmate’s house was also a bad idea. A pretty classmate’s house, with two children and a door that could close behind him, was the kind of idea that deserved to be declined before it grew teeth.

Then he noticed the small plate on a table behind her.

There were cookies on it.

They looked homemade, or at least expensive enough to pretend convincingly.

Cyrus made a quick adjustment to his risk calculation.

"I can stay for one cup," he said.

Miles brightened so quickly that the whole invitation seemed to become his victory. He pulled Cyrus inside before anyone could reconsider.

The house was larger on the inside than Cyrus expected. The living room alone looked close to two thirds the size of his entire apartment. A soft rug covered the floor. The couch had throw pillows that actually matched. A row of framed photos sat on a side table, though Cyrus did not look at them closely. Looking too closely inside other people’s homes felt like collecting information he had not been invited to take.

Faye guided him to the couch with the careful manners of someone used to handling guests, younger siblings, and silence. She brought tea in a real cup, not a paper one, and set a plate of cookies on the low table between them.

Cyrus lifted the cup, blew across the surface out of habit, and took a small sip.

It tasted good.

He had no idea what kind of tea it was. He knew only that it was warm, lightly sweet, and far better than anything he usually bothered making for himself. The cookie beside it was even better. It crumbled cleanly, buttery and sweet, with little bits of chocolate tucked inside.

Human customs had many flaws, but offering snacks to guests was not one of them.

Lena and Miles each received a yogurt drink from the fridge. They sat for all of two minutes before their energy returned. The danger of being lost had apparently expired. They ran toward the far side of the living room, where a game console waited under the television.

Only after the children were out of immediate earshot did Faye lower her eyes to her cup.

"I told them not to go past the park entrance," she said. "They usually listen better than that. I’m glad they met someone from school." 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

Cyrus was reaching for another cookie when her words caught up to him.

Someone from school.

His hand paused above the plate.

Faye noticed the pause. Her head tilted slightly. "Did I say something wrong?"

Cyrus looked at her properly for the first time since entering the house.

"You know me?"

Faye stared at him in confusion for a breath. Then understanding dawned, and a faint color rose in her cheeks.

"Oh, right," she said, the words coming out awkwardly. "I probably look different at home."

She set her cup down and reached up to remove the headband. Her bangs fell forward, sliding over her forehead and shadowing her eyes. With one small change, the pretty girl across the table folded back into the quiet classmate who sat in front of him every day, the one with the long hair, lowered face, and careful posture.

Cyrus stared for longer than he meant to.

"I’m Faye Larkin," she said. "I sit in front of you."

That explained the name.

It did not explain everything else.

Cyrus had known she was quiet. He had known she kept to herself. He had known her hair was long enough to hide most of her face and that she wore large glasses at school. He had not known she was hiding this much under the arrangement.

So he was not the only person in their class using appearance as a tool.

That was worth remembering.

"Sorry about that," Cyrus said. "I didn’t recognize you."

Faye shook her head. "That is fine. I do it on purpose."

She said it gently, but there was a clear ending on the sentence. She did not offer the reason. Cyrus respected that. He had his own reasons, and he disliked it when people tried to pry them loose with concern.

The silence between them settled for a while.

It was not unpleasant. It was only new. In the classroom, Faye was part of the furniture of his ordinary life, the classmate in front of him whose straight back accidentally blocked teachers’ view of his naps. Here, she was a girl with a large house, two younger siblings, good cookies, and a face most people at St. Alder would absolutely talk about if they saw it clearly.

Cyrus took another cookie.

If she was going to hide, that was her business.

If she was going to provide snacks, he could respect her privacy with extra sincerity.

Miles returned before the silence could become anything else. He held two controllers, one black and one white, and presented the white one to Cyrus like an offering.

"You should play with me," Miles said. "Faye always says she’s busy."

Faye looked over from the couch. "I say that when I am actually busy."

"You read books," Miles said.

"That still counts."

Miles ignored this and pushed the controller toward Cyrus. "Can you play?"

Cyrus looked at the television, the console beneath it, and the controller in Miles’s hands.

A game console.

He had read about these. He had seen people talk about them online. He had passed store displays and wondered why a small box could cost that much money. He had never had a reason, or the spare cash, to try one.

The controller looked complicated. That made it better.

Cyrus kept his face calm.

"I haven’t played much," he said.

Miles’s expression turned delighted in the cruel way only children managed when they discovered an adult-sized person lacked basic knowledge. "I can teach you."

Cyrus considered refusing again.

He had meant to walk around, eat something cheap, sit somewhere with shade, and go home. He had not planned to enter a classmate’s house and receive a lesson in electronic entertainment from a small boy who had recently gotten lost in his own neighborhood.

Then Faye set a small dish of snacks on the coffee table, close enough for him to reach.

That changed the situation.

"If it doesn’t trouble your sister," Cyrus said.

Faye had already put the headband back on, restoring the bright, open version of her face. She sat in the single armchair with a book resting against her knee. At his question, she gave a small nod.

"If you have nothing else to do, you can stay a little longer," she said. "Miles doesn’t get many chances to play with someone new."

Miles grabbed Cyrus’s sleeve again and pulled him toward the television before Cyrus could adjust his answer.

The living room looked different from this angle. The console was sleek and expensive beneath the screen. The shelves nearby held a tidy collection of games, all arranged with more care than Cyrus expected from a child. The house had money, but it did not feel loud about it. The furniture was simple, tasteful, and warm, the kind of place where someone had chosen comfort without wanting to announce the price of it.

Faye followed with the snack plate and set it near the edge of the coffee table. She sat down again, opened her book, and settled into the quiet as naturally as breathing.

At school, Faye looked like a gloomy literature girl.

At home, she looked like a pretty literature girl who had decided the world did not need to know.

The difference was unfairly large, but the reading habit was apparently real.

That confirmed it. She really was Faye.

Miles scrolled through the game menu with serious concentration. He passed racing games, fighting games, and something full of colorful characters Cyrus could not immediately classify. His small face tightened with the pressure of choosing correctly.

Lena climbed onto the couch nearby, hugging a plush rabbit to her chest. "Pick the one with the cars."

"That one is hard," Miles said.

"You always crash into walls."

"That means the game is hard," Miles said with complete confidence.

Cyrus accepted the controller and tested the weight of it in his hands. Buttons, sticks, triggers, and a glowing strip of light sat beneath his fingers. It was a tool designed entirely for play. Not survival. Not work. Not school. Not earning tips. Not hiding.

It existed so someone could waste time and enjoy it.

The thought was stranger than it should have been.

Miles finally chose a game and turned around with a grin bright enough to make Lena forget she had been crying less than an hour ago.

"Let’s play this one," Miles said.

Cyrus looked at the screen, then at the snacks, then at the controller.

"Yeah, I’ll play," he said, and settled his thumb over the buttons like this was another ordinary thing he could learn.