Chapter 49: A Little Color

"My name is Cory," Cyrus said.

"Cory," Daphne repeated, her voice turning strangely gentle. "That is a cute name."

Her attention stayed on the white-haired child in her apartment. She had seen him before, had thought about him more than any responsible adult should, and now he was standing within arm’s reach with no guard up at all.

That was the problem.

No, that phrasing made it sound cleaner than it was.

The problem was Daphne herself.

A small child had walked into her room because he thought she was safe. If she wanted to keep him here, he would not have much power to stop her. If she wanted to coax him closer, he would probably follow. The thought made her fingers tighten around the edge of the counter before she forced her hand loose.

Cyrus saw enough to take one careful step back.

Daphne turned toward the stove and wiped at the corner of her mouth before her expression could get worse. The food still needed attention. So did her common sense.

She was an adult. She was a teacher. She knew what kind of line separated a private weakness from actual behavior. Wanting to hug him until his little white head was tucked under her chin was already bad enough. Letting that thought grow teeth would be worse.

There were other ways.

A meal, a little praise, a warm place to sit, and a few harmless questions were tools adults used all the time. They were not ugly on their own. They only became ugly when someone used them to make refusal harder.

Daphne stared at the skillet for too long.

She would not do anything like that.

At most, she could try to get one hug.

That was still terrible, but it was a more survivable kind of terrible.

She divided part of the food into a container, then asked without turning around too quickly, "When are your parents coming back? Have you had dinner yet?"

"They will be back later," Cyrus said.

His attention stayed on the food.

"I have not eaten dinner yet." 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

The answer came with the exact amount of restraint he wanted. He did not grab her sleeve. He did not beg. He only let his hunger show enough that ignoring it would require effort.

Cyrus had no professional training in pretending to be a child, but he did have experience serving customers at The Full Moon Lounge. People liked to see the version of you that made them feel generous. Give them that version, and they often handed over money, food, or both.

The smell from the stove made the performance easier.

He had seen someone eating this kind of dinner at the family restaurant earlier, back when buying another meal would have insulted his budget. Now the same kind of food sat a few feet away from him, and all he had to do was look hungry and harmless.

Harmless was embarrassing.

Food was important.

Daphne moved the plate slightly. Cyrus’s attention followed before he caught himself.

The corner of her mouth lifted.

"Do you want to eat with me, Cory?"

"Yes, I would."

He nodded at once.

At least she had good eyesight. This woman’s moral condition was concerning, but her ability to notice hunger was not bad.

The small clothes, the white hair, the soft voice, the careful expression, all of it needed to bring some return. Otherwise he would have gone through the trouble of turning himself into bait for nothing.

Inside the kitchen, Daphne handled the pan with ridiculous ease. The cast iron looked heavy enough to be a weapon, but she tipped it one-handed, sent vegetables sliding across the surface, and caught them back in place like it was no more difficult than folding paper. Another pan came on after that. Butter hit heat, and garlic followed right after. The apartment filled with the smell of food that had been made by someone who knew what she was doing.

Cyrus respected anyone who could create dinner without smoke, panic, or instructions.

His own apartment had a microwave, a small fridge, and the emotional atmosphere of a storage closet. Daphne’s unit had the same basic floor plan, but the pot rack near the counter, the washed cutting board, and the stack of real plates by the sink made it feel occupied in a different way.

The room was warmer than his.

He noticed that first, then noticed how quickly the air around his chair cooled when he sat down.

Daphne set the last dish on the table. Instead of taking the chair across from him, she sat beside him.

The table was small enough that her sleeve nearly brushed his arm.

"Go ahead and eat," she said.

Cyrus picked up the fork and took the first bite with exaggerated politeness. After that, politeness had to compete with hunger.

The food was good.

It was unfairly good.

"Does it taste all right?" Daphne asked, leaning closer than necessary.

"It tastes really good."

The praise was sincere enough to cost him nothing. One of the dishes had a little heat to it, but his Frostborn body did not mind. Warm food always felt better in this form, and spice was only another reason to keep eating.

Daphne watched him with growing satisfaction.

A small child was eating because of her. Her food was filling his stomach. Her apartment had become the place he had chosen to stay, even if only for dinner. She could name every normal part of this scene, plate, fork, chair, kitchen, guest, but the feeling under it did not stay normal.

Her hand curled against her knee.

Cyrus noticed, then chose to focus on the food.

Some dangers could wait until after dinner.

Daphne rested her chin near one hand and let her voice coax at the edges. "I made dinner for you, so does that make me a good person?"

"You are a good person," Cyrus said.

He answered quickly. Complimenting the person feeding him was basic table manners and basic survival.

"Then how should a polite little boy thank me?"

"When I grow up, I can cook for you too."

Daphne’s smile almost cracked.

The phrase landed badly.

Why did children have to mention the one thing that ruined everything?

Time was cruel. It stretched small hands into larger ones, changed voices, sharpened faces, and took away the brief years when a child could still fit neatly against an adult’s side. The thought made her mood sink for half a breath.

Then she looked at him again.

The white hair, pale skin, and delicate face were already too pretty under the cheap apartment light. If he grew up and somehow kept that face, maybe the future would not be completely unforgivable.

There would be one condition.

She would need to be there to watch.

Daphne pushed that thought aside before it could become worse than it already was.

"I know another way you can thank me," she said.

Cyrus looked up from his plate. "What way is that?"

Her smile softened into something she probably thought looked harmless.

"You can give me a kiss on the cheek."

Cyrus lowered his fork.

"My mom says if I kiss someone, I have to take responsibility for it."

"I do not need you to take responsibility," Daphne said at once.

The answer came out too fast. She heard it herself and nearly bit her tongue.

Cyrus stared at her with clear, serious eyes.

"If I do not take responsibility, then I really cannot kiss you."

Daphne had no reply ready for that.

Somehow, this small child had trapped her with manners.

She had only wanted to stain that clean look with a tiny bit of color. Apparently, even a tiny bit was difficult.

"Then can you feed me one bite?" she asked.

"I can do that."

Cyrus picked up a piece of food with the fork and held it out carefully.

Daphne leaned down and took the bite.

She did not release the fork right away.

Cyrus waited, expression calm, until she finally let go. Then he pulled the fork back, set it beside his plate, and gave the situation the respect it deserved.

Which was none.

Daphne was worse than he had estimated.

Luckily, he had eaten fast. His stomach was full enough, and the remaining food no longer justified the remaining risk. Free dinner was good. Being trapped in a neighbor’s apartment by a woman with that expression was not good.

He slid down from the chair.

"I am full now. Thank you for dinner."

Daphne blinked, still caught in whatever private satisfaction she had taken from that one bite.

Cyrus continued before she could make another request. "Thank you for letting me stay here. I should go home now. Goodbye, miss."

"You are welcome," Daphne said, her smile still lingering. "Come play again when you have time."

"I will come again sometime."

For an instant, amusement passed over the child’s face. It disappeared so quickly that Daphne could not decide whether she had imagined it.

Then he slipped out through the door.

Daphne sat there for several seconds.

The apartment seemed to lose half its warmth with him gone.

Then she realized what she should have done.

It was dark outside. A child that small should not leave alone. She should have walked him home, partly because it was the responsible thing to do, and partly because walking him home would tell her where he lived.

Daphne stood so quickly that the chair scraped the floor.

The hallway outside was empty.

The motion light hummed overhead. Somewhere nearby, a door clicked shut, but the sound came too late for her to tell which apartment it belonged to. The white-haired child had vanished into the building as neatly as if the corridor had swallowed him.

Regret sat heavy in her throat.

Obsession really did make people stupid.

Her stomach growled, dragging her back to the table and the dinner she had barely touched.

Eating first was the practical choice. A full stomach would give her the patience to wait for the next time Cory came by.

Daphne returned to her apartment and looked at the small table.

Most of the food was gone.

She stood there for a while, unable to decide what face she was supposed to make.

By the time she noticed her own hand, her fist had already curled tight.