Villainous Claim

Chapter 1

ANNIE

My knuckles whitened as I gripped the railing of the observation deck with what I’d call “excessive enthusiasm” if I were writing a performance review for myself.

Below, junior Supers clashed in the Crucible’s arena.

The air smelled of scorched concrete and copper as a shockwave rattled the reinforced glass of the observation deck, vibrating right into my teeth.

It was supposed to be an impressive display of potential.

It just looked like a slaughter waiting to happen.

The shadows in the corners of the arena seemed to stretch, reaching for me.

The metallic tang of adrenaline coated my tongue as an electric panic buzzed through my system.

My pulse hammered in my ears, drowning out the cheers from the other observers as my brain helpfully replayed the greatest hits from “Annie’s Trauma Collection: The Dread Edition. ”

I forced myself to just breathe. This wasn’t the same day. Different supers. Different scenario. Same place where I almost died, but hey, the bloodstains had been power-washed away, so that was a plus.

“You’re doing fine, kid,” Havoc said, his voice low enough that only I could hear.

I forced my fingers to unclench. “I know. I’m good.” Havoc gave me a look that said he didn’t buy my lie for a second, but he knew better than to push. Instead, he turned his attention back to the melee with a frown.

A flash of dark blue energy erupted from a young League member’s hands, sending two Heroes flying backward. The sudden burst of power made my vision tunnel momentarily, the edges darkening as I tried to control my breathing. It wasn’t Dread. Just a kid with energy powers. Not him.

Today was what Alliance and League officials called Ascension Day but everyone else just referred to it as Adoption Day.

The Crucible’s observation deck was crowded with veteran Supers, all of them hungry to find the next protégé to mold in their image.

But the press of bodies around me sent prickles of awareness across my skin so that each unexpected movement in my peripheral vision made my shoulders tense.

A crash drew my attention as concrete cracked beneath a hulking man who’d transformed his skin to stone.

The sound reverberated through the floor, traveling up through my feet and settling in my chest. For a split second, I wasn’t watching a training exercise, I was back there, with Dread’s fingers digging into my arm, his voice a soft poison in my ear.

I blinked hard, the fluorescent lights suddenly too bright, too harsh. The air conditioning raised goosebumps along my arms despite the sweat beading at my hairline.

“You don’t have to be here,” Havoc said, his eyes still tracking the fight. “I understand, Annie.”

“I’m your Senior Keeper. It’s my job to be here.” I straightened my jacket with hands that only trembled slightly, practically steady by my new standards. “Besides, running from memories doesn’t make them disappear. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Below us, the stone-skinned Super brought both fists down, splitting the arena floor.

The crack echoed through the space, and I flinched before I could stop myself.

One hour down, two to go. I thought of all the paperwork I would make for myself if I bailed early because nothing cures trauma like bureaucratic consequences. I could handle this.

I had to.

The afternoon wore on as I scribbled notes in my tablet, organizing the candidates.

Years as Havoc’s Keeper had honed this skill to second nature, which, thank god for muscle memory, since my actual conscious brain was still partly occupied with not freaking out every time someone used powers that even vaguely resembled Dread’s.

No one would ever guess I was one loud noise away from diving under the observation deck screaming.

“William Evans,” I murmured, watching as the Super known as Helios demonstrated his solar manipulation.

The light was blinding, carrying a heat that made the air shimmer and warp.

He could incinerate the flesh off a man’s bones with a thought.

“Excellent control, conscientious about collateral damage.”

Havoc nodded, his expression giving nothing away to the other observers, but I caught the subtle tell in his posture, a slight forward lean that betrayed his interest.

On the opposite side of the arena, Andrew James, known as Valor, executed a brutal aerial maneuver. His golden aura flared as he drove his opponent into the dirt with bone-jarring force. The crowd gasped, intoxicated by the display.

“Showboating,” I noted. “But effective.”

“Sometimes showboating serves a purpose,” Havoc said. “Fear and awe are tools like any other.”

Havoc watched Valor a bit longer. “He has definite potential,” he muttered to himself.

As the demonstration continued, Havoc’s eyes kept returning to Helios and Valor. I recognized the look, I’d seen it before when he was planning long-term strategy. Havoc was sixty years old, and while Trueborn Supers aged differently, even they couldn’t lead forever.

“You’re seriously considering one of them, aren’t you?” I asked during a lull in the action.

“It’s been a long time since I took on a protégé. I suppose just because none of the others have done as well as I would have liked, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t give anyone else a chance.”

“Valor’s hungry for it,” I observed. “Helios seems less ambitious.”

“I’d like to say sometimes the ones who don’t seek power are the ones who should hold it, but that’s always sounded a bit like bullshit to me,” Havoc said, watching as Helios helped an opponent to their feet after downing them.

“I don’t really think someone who has as much power as you do should be commenting on who should hold power,” I said, poking him in the ribs with my stylus.

Havoc ignored me but I caught his smile.

The final clash of powers sent a shockwave through the arena as the group match reached its conclusion. A buzzer sounded and the junior Supers began to disperse, some celebrating small victories, others nursing wounded pride along with their injuries.

I glanced at Havoc, his expression inscrutable as he studied the arena below. His fingers drummed a slow rhythm against the railing.

“So,” I said, tapping my tablet screen to save my notes, “any thoughts? Or are you going to brood about it for a week like you did the last time you thought about picking someone? Because I’ve already penciled in your brooding sessions for Thursday afternoons, and I’d hate to reschedule.”

Havoc’s lips quirked upward. “I don’t need more time to think. I’ve decided.”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised by his certainty. Havoc wasn’t known for quick decisions when it came to mentorship since most amounted to nothing in the end. The last time he’d taken on a protégé had been over five years ago and that one had been particularly disappointing.

“Really? Who’s it going to be, then?”

Havoc turned to face me fully. “Both of them.”

My tablet slipped from my fingers, the corner jabbing painfully into my thigh as I caught it. “Both? You mean Valor and Helios?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

My thoughts immediately switched to stress calculations, the familiar bureaucratic panic momentarily overriding my trauma-induced anxiety. One junior Hero was manageable—scheduling, training, PR, paperwork. But two? With completely different personalities and public images?

“You realize I’m just one Keeper, right?” I asked, my breath coming in short bursts as I tried to cram everything that would need to happen into my mental calendar. “Two junior Heroes means twice the administrative load, twice the training sessions to coordinate, twice the—”

“Twice the fun?” Havoc suggested, smiling.

“That’s not the word I was going to use.” My voice came out sharp, but to hell with it.

Havoc clapped me on the back, his hand warm and solid.

The sudden contact made me flinch slightly—another lovely souvenir from my Dread encounter.

My startle reflex was now set to “frightened woodland creature” levels.

“Besides,” he continued, “I have plenty of Keepers to help with the managing of them. Don’t take it all on yourself. Remember, you’re my Keeper.”

I shot him a look. “You finally just replenished your Keeper numbers after the Great Exodus while I was recovering. And the other Keepers you have now report to me, in case you’ve forgotten. Any delegation still means oversight.”

Havoc’s expression softened slightly. “I have complete faith in your organizational skills.”

“Fine,” I conceded. “But I want it on record that I think this is asking for trouble. I get the feeling that getting Valor and Helios to work together will be like herding cats. Where one cat is a spotlight-seeking missile and the other is actually a golden retriever in disguise.”

“Fortunately, you excel at cat herding.” Havoc turned his attention back to the arena, where the maintenance crew was already beginning repairs of the damage. “And sometimes opposing forces create exactly the balance we need.”

I followed his gaze to where Valor was still soaking up adoration while Helios quietly helped clean up debris from the fight. Two approaches to heroism, each with their strengths and weaknesses. Perhaps Havoc was right – together they might complement each other perfectly.

Or they might drive me completely insane.

As we left, the weight in my chest eased with each step toward the exit. I felt like I could almost breathe normally again.

My tablet pinged with an alert, the sound making me jump despite its familiarity. I swiped away the notification before it had a chance to spoil my hard-won composure, but not before I caught the name that made my stomach flip.

“You can’t ignore it forever,” Havoc said, catching my gesture.

“I’m not ignoring it. I’m prioritizing.” I nodded toward where Valor and Helios were exiting the arena. “New protégés first, Nemesis logistics second.”

I kept my expression neutral as we walked, but my mind had already latched onto that damn notification.

Cipher had ascended to the rank of Super Villain just a month ago and he hadn’t wasted a single moment before applying to be Havoc’s Nemesis.

And Havoc had accepted the application.

The notification waiting on my tablet was about the promotional materials for their debut Nemesis fight. They needed my final approval before going to print.

Three months of avoiding even thinking his name, and now I’d be orchestrating his grand spectacle.

My pulse quickened, the sound of blood rushing in my ears almost drowning out the echo of our footsteps.

“You know,” Havoc said quietly, reading my silence, “I could have another Keeper handle the Nemesis arrangements.”

I straightened, ignoring the knot forming between my shoulder blades. “That’s not necessary.”

“It wasn’t a question of necessity, Annie. It was a question of preference.”

“I’m fine.” The words came out clipped. “This is what I do.”

Havoc didn’t push, but I felt his eyes on me as we continued walking. The weight of his gaze made the back of my neck prickle. He knew what had happened between Cipher and me, not necessarily the intimate details, thank God, but enough to understand why I might want distance.

I lied about many things, Annie. But never about wanting you. Never about needing you.

The memory of his voice sliced through me, as sharp and unexpected as the day he’d said it. My fingers tightened around my tablet until my knuckles ached. I hated that his words still echoed in my head sometimes, usually at three in the morning when sleep refused to come.

I took a deep breath. “The Nemesis contract is a significant career milestone for you. For both of you. I won’t let personal history interfere with that. I’m a professional,” I added, as if I needed to remind myself as much as Havoc.

Havoc’s knowing look said he wasn’t fooled. “Just remember, Annie. Professional distance is one thing. Pretending he doesn’t exist is another.”

I forced a smile. “I’m perfectly aware he exists. My therapist’s yacht payments depend on it.”

Havoc placed a hand on my shoulder, his touch gentle. “Annie, it’s okay to admit when something’s difficult. No one expects you to be unaffected.”

I nodded mechanically, but my mind had already drifted elsewhere. To him.

Three months.

Three whole months without a word from Cipher. Not a text, not a call. Nothing. The silence had its own weight, pressing against my chest whenever I let myself think about it.

“I’m fine,” I repeated. “It’s just work.”

But it wasn’t just work, and we both knew it. The promotional materials for their Nemesis fight meant I’d have to see his face again, that infuriating smirk visible beneath his mask, the only part of his face he ever showed to the world.

Except he’d shown me more, hadn’t he? He’d shown me everything.

And then nothing. Complete radio silence for three months.

Which was fine. Really. Absolutely fine.

So fine that my jaw ached from clenching it every time I thought about him.

So fine that I’d developed a special talent for dropping things whenever someone mentioned his name.

So fine that I’d created an entire system for organizing my apartment at 2 AM when memories of him kept me awake.

What could I possibly have to say to the man who’d lied to me from almost the moment we met?

Except fucking everything.

I wanted to demand he tell me why he’d disappeared so completely. I wanted to know if he ever thought about the nights when his hands had moved over my skin like he was memorizing every inch of me.

The phantom sensation of his touch still burned sometimes, a ghost I couldn’t exorcise.

I wanted to ask if he’d meant it when he said he loved me. Those words, thrown at me like a last-ditch effort after everything had fallen apart.

The words that should have meant everything but came too late to mean anything at all. They were words that still managed to twist something sharp between my ribs whenever I thought them.

I wanted to force him to his knees and make him confess exactly what it cost him to leave me terrified in the dark. I wanted him to beg for my forgiveness.

My anger felt like a living thing sometimes, coiled tight in my stomach, hot and venomous.

Other times it was just exhaustion, a bone-deep weariness at having been so completely, spectacularly wrong about someone.

And beneath it all, there was a humiliating undercurrent of something that felt dangerously like missing him.

“Do you need a day off?” Havoc asked, breaking into my thoughts. “The paperwork can wait.”

I straightened my jacket again, pulling myself back to the present.

“No. I’ve got this.” I gave him my best fake smile, the one I’d perfected in the mirror until not even Havoc could tell it wasn’t real.

“We should see about your new Protégés. I’ve got plenty of room in my schedule for new catastrophes. ”