I Escaped the Cage, but the Yandere Women Found Me

Chapter 66: Chapter 66: Truth and Punishment, Part One

Chapter 66: Truth and Punishment, Part One

"Cyrus Calder, stop by my office after class."

Daphne Whitlock’s voice cut cleanly through the last loose bits of classroom noise.

A few students turned toward the back corner. Cyrus had spent enough time being the kind of person classmates forgot until attendance forced them to remember, but the fake love-letter mess had changed that a little. Not enough to make him popular, thank God, but enough that his name no longer floated through the room without landing anywhere.

Cyrus did not think much of it.

Teachers asked students to stop by after class all the time. Ms. Hart was out today, and Daphne had been one of the teachers watching his recent improvement. This probably had something to do with grades, homework, or some school form he had never heard of because St. Alder Academy loved paperwork almost as much as the human world loved taking money from people.

He slid his book into his bag, stood, and followed Daphne out.

The hallway after class was crowded with students drifting toward lockers, bathrooms, stairwells, and corners where they could pretend the next period did not exist. Daphne moved through it with the smooth confidence of someone used to being seen. Students greeted her from both sides.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Whitlock."

"Hi, Ms. Whitlock."

"Great class today, Ms. Whitlock."

Most of them sounded brave in that specific student way, like saying hello to a beautiful teacher counted as a small victory. Daphne did not slow down, but she answered with a nod here, a slight smile there, always polished, always warm enough to make the greeting feel rewarded.

Cyrus walked half a step behind her.

Daphne was tall to begin with, and the fitted teaching clothes made her look even more put together than usual. Professional, graceful, and very easy for half the hallway to admire. Cyrus could understand that part. Looking at beautiful things was not the problem. Losing your mind over them was where humans kept failing.

A prickle of attention brushed the back of his neck.

Cyrus glanced over his shoulder.

Nora Ellison had stopped a short distance behind him. The girl with the short ponytail turned neatly, like she had simply remembered she needed the restroom, then slipped through the bathroom door without meeting his eyes.

Cyrus faced forward again.

So she was still following him.

That was getting annoying.

He looked at Daphne’s back and, for reasons his mind apparently thought useful, compared their heights. Daphne’s heels were doing part of the work, because of course they were. Nora was shorter. Without the shoes cheating, Cyrus was fairly sure he was still a little taller than Daphne.

The comparison helped nothing, but it filled the walk.

Daphne’s office was not far. It sat among a row of shared faculty rooms, each one neat at first glance and increasingly human near the desks. Papers, mugs, half-dead pens, sticky notes, old handouts, and books had claimed their own territory. Daphne’s station was cleaner than most, though not empty. A glass paperweight held down a stack of graded work. Her blazer hung over the chair. A faint perfume lingered near the desk, almost buried under coffee and printer toner.

Cyrus stopped where a student should stop.

Daphne moved around the desk and opened a drawer.

The moment she took out the thick kraft envelope, Cyrus’s attention sharpened.

That shape had meaning.

Money had many forms here. Bills, checks, cards, numbers on a phone screen, numbers that disappeared the moment medicine had to be purchased. Cyrus respected all of them when they belonged to him.

Daphne set the envelope on the desk.

"Ms. Hart was supposed to give this to you," she said. "She called out sick today, so I’m handling it for her."

Cyrus looked from the envelope to Daphne.

"Is this the improvement award?"

"This is your improvement award," Daphne said.

His heart gave a very practical jump.

Daphne pushed the envelope toward him. "Your progress was clear enough that the department did not want to wait for the full ranking meeting. You had a few weaker subjects dragging you down before, and you’ve pulled those scores up quickly. The teachers have noticed."

Cyrus accepted the envelope with both hands.

It had weight.

A beautiful, merciful, wallet-saving kind of weight.

Daphne watched his face. His bangs hid most of his expression, but not the small, unguarded brightness that slipped through. He tried to press it down a second later, which only made it more obvious.

"There are still conditions," Daphne continued. "This is meant to encourage you to keep your grades stable. If your scores drop too sharply again, there may be questions about whether the improvement was temporary." ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

"I understand that," Cyrus said. "I’ll keep studying."

He meant it with his whole wallet.

If someone had told him earlier that studying could produce money, he would have explained the situation to Malcolm Baird much sooner. Work at The Full Moon Lounge paid for survival, but school money felt like finding food in a place that had previously produced only stress.

His poor wallet, hollowed out by Frostborn suppressants, rent worries, and food, could finally breathe again.

Daphne’s expression softened.

Cyrus noticed and immediately filed it away as teacher pity.

He was used to that look from certain adults. Some people saw a student with no visible family support and decided they were kind. Some were genuinely kind. Some liked the feeling of being kind more than the work of it. Daphne, unfortunately, had other problems layered under the kindness.

Still, she had handed him money.

Money deserved gratitude.

"Thank you, Ms. Whitlock."

"You earned this," Daphne said.

That was technically true, which made the envelope feel even better.

Cyrus gave another small nod, turned, and left before anyone could attach a new condition, request, lecture, or emotional conversation to the award.

Daphne remained behind her desk.

The office door clicked shut.

For a while, she simply stood there, looking at the space where Cyrus had been. The boy was quiet, serious, and clearly trying hard to carry a life that did not fit on his shoulders yet. Any teacher with a working conscience would feel some sympathy.

Daphne did feel sympathy.

The problem was that sympathy was never the only thing.

He had helped connect her to Cory. Sweet, strange, impossible little Cory, who appeared and vanished like he lived between locked doors and bad decisions. Daphne had not forgotten the brief visit. She had not forgotten the careful politeness, the childlike voice, the way he accepted food like someone who knew better than to ask for too much.

She also had not forgotten the tiny, fleeting cheek kiss.

That memory had been dangerous enough without being fed.

Cyrus, if he had any sense, should have known what a useful bridge he was. He could have asked for another favor. He could have mentioned that Cory might come by again. He could have offered to pass along a message.

Daphne’s fingers curled lightly against the desk.

The thought made her feel like some old landlord in a grim story, offering a struggling family money if their child came to keep her company for the evening. The comparison was ugly enough that a better person would have stopped there.

Daphne was not fully convinced she counted as better.

If it were truly possible, she might even pay out of pocket for another visit.

The thought brought shame first, then a softer and worse pleasure.

Cory’s face. Cory’s voice. Cory looking at her like she was safe.

Daphne covered her mouth for a breath and smiled into her hand.

Then she straightened, fixed her expression, and returned to the papers on her desk as if she had been a normal teacher the entire time.

In the restroom, Nora Ellison stared at herself in the mirror and sighed.

Cyrus Calder was harder to approach than he looked.

She had followed him after Daphne called him out, hoping she might catch his route or find another chance to speak with him. He had noticed almost immediately. He had not confronted her, which was nice, but the fact that he noticed at all made things inconvenient.

Still, inconvenience was not defeat.

Nora adjusted her ponytail and studied her reflection. She had a decent face, a good smile, and more social sense than Cyrus seemed to have in his entire body. There had to be a way.

An accidental meeting after school could work. Maybe near the covered walkway. Maybe near the campus store. She could pretend she was in a hurry, something cute and harmless. The classic route would be running with toast in her mouth and crashing into him, except that was ridiculous outside of cartoons.

Then again, ridiculous things became charming if the person doing them looked confident enough.

Nora’s mood lifted.

She could buy a croissant or a packaged muffin from the campus store. Something less stupid than toast. Then she could turn a corner too fast, bump into him, apologize, and finally get close enough to check whether his hidden face was really worth this much effort.

The plan had elegance.

A reflection appeared behind her.

Nora froze.

Audra Sloane stood near the bathroom entrance, composed as ever, her expression cool enough to make the room feel more formal by existing in it.

Nora and Audra were classmates, but not friends. They knew each other the way students in the same school orbit knew each other: names, faces, reputations, the occasional group assignment, nothing personal enough to count as closeness.

The restroom was empty except for them.

Nora smiled, because smiling was the fastest way to make an awkward pause less awkward. "Audra, did you need something?"

Audra did not answer at once.

She walked closer, her steps quiet against the tile. Her hand lifted, palm angled slightly inward.

A ring sat on her finger.

Nora’s attention caught on it before she understood why. A small pink stone rested at the center, delicate and pretty, but the longer she looked, the less it felt like jewelry. The pink seemed to deepen, not by glowing exactly, but by pulling her focus into it until the edges of the mirror, the sinks, and Audra’s face all began to blur.

Nora’s next words died in her throat.

Her thoughts slipped.

For one dizzy instant, the room tilted without moving. Then her head lowered, her shoulders eased, and her expression emptied.

Audra watched her carefully.

The effect was the same as it had been at home.

That should have frightened her more than it did.

Her heartbeat quickened, but not only from fear. Every time she used the Glamourkin Ring, the world felt like it had revealed a hidden seam. People had always seemed difficult, full of motives and secrets and messy little refusals. Then the ring turned them quiet. Simple. Obedient.

A person could get used to that.

Audra disliked what that implied about herself.

Perhaps she was not as clean-hearted as people thought. Perhaps nobody was, once handed a tool that could cut through other people’s lies.

All this over Cyrus Calder, too.

The thought should have stopped her. A boy had been strange, evasive, and possibly dishonest, and here she was using a rare-blood artifact on another student to find out why.

But she had already come this far.

Audra’s voice stayed low.

"Why are you approaching Cyrus Calder?"

Nora answered immediately.

"Because I think he might be kind of good-looking."

Audra stared at her.

For the first time since entering the restroom, the calm structure of her expression almost cracked.

Cyrus Calder?

The same Cyrus who sat in the corner with his hair over his eyes and his posture folded down? The same Cyrus who looked like he had built his whole school identity out of silence, cheap textbooks, and poor sleep?

Audra’s mind produced a single, offended question.

What did that mean?

Was he hiding something under that hair too?

Was even that dull, honest-looking face another layer of deception?

Audra’s fingers tightened around the edge of her sleeve.

"How did you notice?"

Nora’s voice remained flat, obedient, and terribly useful. "I noticed yesterday during basketball. He jumped for a shot, and his bangs lifted. I only saw a little, but I’m sure he’s hiding his face."

Audra remembered the game.

She had seen Cyrus from behind, mostly. The missed shot, the movement, the loose shape of him in a blue practice vest. She had not seen enough of his face to confirm anything. At the time, she had only thought his body moved differently from what she expected, light and controlled in a way that did not match his school persona.

Could Nora have mistaken it?

The ring did not make people omniscient. It made them answer according to what they believed, and Nora clearly believed what she had seen.

That irritated Audra more than a clean answer would have.

She had tutored Cyrus for days. Sat across from him. Watched his handwriting, his problem-solving, his silences, his little pauses before lying. She had noticed the ring, the strange calm, the fake amnesia story that might not be fake, the way he deflected every thread that tried to lead back to himself.

Yet Nora Ellison had walked past a basketball court once and spotted a secret Audra had missed.

Was Cyrus hiding from her on purpose?

The thought landed badly.

In her mind, Cyrus lowered his head over a worksheet and laughed quietly where she could not see. Not loudly. Not cruelly. Just enough to make her feel like she had been circling a locked box while he held the key under the table the whole time.

Audra’s jaw tightened.

He was in trouble.

She would control him.

This time, she truly would.

She would see what he was hiding, how much of his story was real, and how many times he had sat across from her while lying with that calm, infuriating face. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

Audra lifted her hand to snap Nora awake.

Then she paused.

A better idea, colder and more useful, came to her.

She leaned closer and gave Nora one more instruction.

Nora listened without expression.

A clear snap cracked through the restroom.

Audra left before Nora fully came back to herself.

Nora blinked.

The mirror was in front of her. The sink was dry. Her hands were empty. For a few seconds, she looked left and right, trying to catch the thought she had dropped.

What had she been thinking about?

Right, she had been planning the accidental crash with a croissant.