Chapter 39
CIPHER
I stood at the edge of my headquarters’ roof, the night air doing nothing to cool the rage burning through me. The city lights blurred as my hands clenched into fists so tight my nails broke skin. Didn’t matter. It would heal in seconds.
“Fucking manipulative—” I slammed my fist into the concrete barrier, watching it crumble under the impact. The pain was fleeting, gone before it could register.
How dare she? How fucking dare Annie try to play me like that? That innocent voice, those wide eyes, all a performance to get me to confess feelings I’d barely admitted to myself.
You’re one to talk about manipulation, that irritating voice in my head whispered. I crushed it down.
“It’s different,” I growled to the empty air. “She was supposed to be better than this.”
I’d expected this kind of behavior from everyone else. But Annie? I’d thought she was genuine. That was the whole fucking problem, I’d believed in her.
Another section of rooftop crumbled under my fist. I’d been out here for close to a fucking hour and I still couldn’t go inside yet. If I did, there wouldn’t be anything of the Labyrinth left.
Everything had been so clear before her. Become an Arch Villain. Challenge Havoc and become his Nemesis. Build my legacy. Now my thoughts were a chaotic mess, and I hated her for it.
I ripped off my mask, needing to feel the air on my face. The city stretched before me, waiting for my next move. It was time to remember who I was.
And Annie Bishop? She’d just become another obstacle to eliminate on my path.
I stared at the shattered concrete, my own words echoing in my mind. Obstacle to eliminate.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
Annie wasn’t some problem to be solved or enemy to destroy. She was—
The mask in my hand snapped under the pressure of my grip. I tossed the broken pieces aside, disgusted with myself.
I should be focused on what mattered. Dread had the name of the other Warden already. That’s what I should be concerned about. Who was this poor bastard about to be wiped from existence? I needed to go inside, check the systems, find out who Dread was hunting.
But my mind kept circling back to Annie.
Annie who had cast me aside because I couldn’t give her what she wanted.
She demanded too much. Asked for things I couldn’t provide.
What the hell had that message been about?
What was said to her that made her suddenly need declarations and promises?
Why the fuck wasn’t I going to see for myself?
I’d left the video feed decrypting while I’d gone to handle the fucking fight with the Alliance asshole and it would be finished by now.
I stormed down to my lab, ignoring any of the henchmen who tried to speak to me. The notification light on my main terminal was blinking. Analysis complete on the Warden files. But I couldn’t care less about some random Warden. I needed to know what had happened at the Tower.
My fingers flew across the keyboard, bypassing Havoc’s security systems.
I found the timestamp that matched when Annie would have arrived and—
“Fuck.”
A Council member. In Havoc’s office.
The masked figure sat across from Havoc, both men silent. I’d never seen a Council member in person before. Few had. They existed as whispers, shadows pulling strings from behind closed doors. Yet here one was, waiting in Havoc’s office like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I let the footage continue playing while pulling up the decoded Warden files on my second screen. The folder labeled “Survivor” beckoned, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from the Council member. What the hell was one of them doing there?
My attention remained fixed on the silent footage. Two of the most powerful beings in the world, sitting in complete silence, waiting.
For Annie. My Annie.
Annie appeared, approaching Havoc’s desk. She took a seat beside the Council member, her back rigid, hands clasped tightly in her lap. I knew that posture. She was terrified, but fighting not to show it.
“What’s happening?” she asked, her voice steady despite her obvious fear.
The Council member spoke. “Dennis Reeves was murdered an hour ago.”
Annie’s face drained of color. Her hands gripped each other so tightly her knuckles went white.
“What would the Council have us do?” Havoc asked, his hands folded calmly on his desk.
“Behave as usual. Protect the asset.”
Asset? My blood ran cold as the Council member’s head turned back to Annie.
No. Fucking. Way.
My fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up the Warden files I’d been ignoring. The survivor file expanded on my screen, and there she was, Annie Bishop. Age, physical description, blood type, genetic markers.
Warden status: Functional, but compromised.
The world stopped.
My hands froze above the keyboard as my brain refused to process what my eyes were seeing. Annie. A Warden. The last fucking Warden.
I stared at the file, waiting for the information to morph into something else, anything else. The letters remained stubbornly unchanged, mocking me. I zoomed in on her genetic profile, scanning the markers that made her what she was, the genetic anomaly that could strip powers from Supers.
From me.
I laughed. Of course. Of fucking course. The universe was a fucking sadist. I’d fallen in love with the one person genetically engineered to be my undoing.
My mind raced through every interaction, recontextualizing each moment through this new terrifying lens.
“No,” Annie’s voice came from the recording, her voice sharp. I forced my attention back to the screen, my entire body cold with dread.
“If Dennis is dead because he was a Warden, then he wasn’t hidden well enough,” she continued, like she was unable to stop the words pouring out. “And if he’s dead just because someone randomly killed him, then you didn’t do enough to protect him.”
My eyes darted between Annie’s fierce expression on the screen and the file confirming what I couldn’t process. I felt like someone had ripped my heart from my chest.
The Council member’s voice continued from the recording, each word driving another spike of horror through me.
“Are you certain, Ms. Bishop, that you’ve put your faith in the correct person?”
The room spun around me as the pieces crashed together in my mind. Annie hadn’t been manipulating me. She’d been asking a genuine question, a desperate one. Her life was actually on the line and I’d dismissed her, accused her of playing games.
What had I done?
“No, no, no...” My voice broke as I turned from the recording. I didn’t need to see more.
She’d come to me, terrified, asking if I’d tell her the truth if her life depended on it. Not as some emotional manipulation tactic, but because she was potentially facing death. And what had I done? I’d accused her of manipulating me. Washed my hands of her.
Then handed her to her executioner.
The rage I’d felt earlier transformed into pure, undiluted terror. My chest constricted so tightly I couldn’t breathe.
I lunged for the console, my hands trembling. Her cuff. Her power dampener. I’d “inspected” it, but what I hadn’t told her was that I’d installed a microscopic tracker, a move that had been pure possessiveness. I’d wanted to know where she was at all times.
I pulled up the tracking program.
“Please,” I whispered, not sure who I was begging. I didn’t believe in any higher power, I never had. But in that moment, I would have prayed to anyone or anything.
The screen blinked, coordinates appearing alongside a flashing dot.
The Crucible.
I grabbed a backup mask. The HUD flickered on. Data streams. Location markers. Weapon status.
A cold part of my mind spoke. This is necessary. She has to die. If she truly is a Warden, she could expose you. She could take your power from you. Everything you’ve built, everything you’ve planned, all of it would crumble.
I paused.
The ruthless calculus I’d always lived by was clear. Annie represented a threat to everything I was. Everything I’d fought to become. If she could negate my powers, if she could strip away what made me extraordinary, wasn’t that worse than death?
I’d spent my childhood being medicated into mediocrity, my brilliance dimmed by drugs meant to make me “normal.” I’d sworn never to be vulnerable again.
And now the woman I wanted held the genetic key that could destroy everything.
The part of me that had kept me alive, kept me rising through the ranks, screamed that this was fate’s gift.
Let Dread eliminate the threat. Let him do the dirty work.
I could even play the grieving lover afterward, swear vengeance, and build my reputation further. It would be the perfect narrative.
But what kind of monster would I be to abandon her?
The kind of monster I’d always claimed to be, whispered that cold voice. A Villain. Isn’t that what you wanted?
I stood frozen between two versions of myself. The calculating Villain I’d crafted and the monster who’d fallen for someone despite himself.
“Fuck that,” I snarled, already moving toward the launch bay.
I am a selfish man. A bad man. A liar who’s built his entire existence on deception. I’ve killed, destroyed lives without remorse, and manipulated everyone who’s ever gotten close to me.
But I fucking loved Annie Bishop.
Loved her stubborn adherence to senseless rules. Loved how she bit her lip when thinking. Loved the way she looked at me like I was worth something beyond power or intellect.
Let her ruin me. Let her take everything. Hell, let her take the genius that defined me, if that’s what it took.
I’d rebuild from nothing.
If she survived.
If I wasn’t too late.
I couldn’t lose her. Not to Dread. Not to anyone.