Chapter 3
ANNIE
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, trying to focus on Havoc’s speech instead of the growing list of to-dos screaming in my head.
The press conference room buzzed with reporters and cameras, all pointed at the three figures standing on the stage.
Havoc in the center with Helios and Valor flanking him like golden bookends.
“—commitment to mentoring the next generation of Heroes,” Havoc was saying, his voice carrying that perfect mix of authority and charm that made people forget he used to level city blocks for fun.
My tablet pinged with another message about the stupid upcoming Nemesis match and my stomach twisted.
“And now, I’d like to introduce Helios,” Havoc continued, gesturing to his left where Helios stood beaming like an actual ray of sunshine.
I should be paying attention. This was an important, career-defining moment for these Heroes.
But all I could think about was whether Cipher would acknowledge our history or pretend nothing happened when I finally had to face him again.
Would he smirk at me across the room? Avoid eye contact?
Pass me notes like we were in high school?
Dear Annie, Do you still hate me? Check yes or absolutely.
“—harnessing the power of solar energy—”
Focus, Annie. Focus.
I took a deep breath. Professional. I would be nothing but professional when I had to see him. Cool, collected, clipboard-wielding Annie Bishop, who definitely wasn’t having a minor breakdown about seeing her ex-whatever-he-was.
Valor stepped forward now, his perfect hair catching the light at exactly the right angle.
My tablet pinged again. Another list of security measures for post match interviews.
It was fine. Everything was fine. I just had to get through this press conference. That was all that was pressing at the moment. It’s not like I was going to see Cipher anytime soon. Well, soonish. The match was in two weeks.
I had plenty of time to prepare myself to face him without either punching him or having an emotional meltdown.
My tablet pinged again. The Alliance’s proposed schedules for Helios and Valor appeared on my screen, and I had to close my eyes and count to ten. They’d double-booked and, in one case, triple-booked Helios and Valor for appearances.
It was hard to breathe. The room felt too small, too hot, too everything. I’d buried myself in work hoping to avoid thinking about Cipher, but now I was just thinking about Cipher while drowning in spreadsheets.
The walls seemed to inch closer and the collar of my shirt felt like it was slowly choking me.
I scanned the room. Four junior Keepers stood along the wall, tablets in hand, looking appropriately serious and professional. They could handle this for five minutes without the world ending. Probably.
I slipped out the side door and found the hallway blissfully empty. I leaned against the wall, closed my eyes, and tried to remember how normal breathing worked as I gulped down air.
“Get it together, Bishop.” I rubbed my forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache blooming behind my eyes. I spotted a bench further down the hall and sank down onto it. I tried to will my muscles to relax but exhaustion had settled into my bones long ago making it almost impossible.
My tablet pinged again. I briefly considered throwing it out the nearest window, but that would mean filling out an equipment replacement form, which would require three signatures and a blood sacrifice to the Alliance bureaucracy gods.
I sighed, thinking back to simpler times when my biggest problem was making sure Havoc showed up to his press conferences on time.
Back then, when stress piled up, I’d retreat into my guilty pleasure—scrolling through ShadowSnap, hunting for new photos of Cipher. I’d spend hours analyzing every shadow in his latest battle shots, every hint of that infuriating smirk beneath his mask.
God, I’d been pathetic.
But there had been something soothing about being a faceless fan, bookmarking those explicit fanfictions under KeeperOfRules, imagining playing out all of those sexual fantasies.
Then I’d met the real Cipher, discovered who he was beneath the mask, and everything had gone from fantasy to complicated reality.
My finger hovered over the ShadowSnap icon on my phone. What would I find if I checked his tags now? New fan theories? More steamy fiction that would remind me of nights I was desperately trying to forget?
I closed the app drawer. I’d rather throw myself from the top of the Tower than crawl back to that particular obsession. Some fantasies should stay buried. Especially when they’d already blown up in my face once.
“Excuse me, Ms. Bishop?”
I jumped, nearly dropping my phone.
A young woman in a green apron stood in front of me, holding a to-go cup from the Tower food court coffee shop. Her eyebrows had climbed halfway up her forehead at my reaction.
“Sorry, yes. Can I help you?”
She thrust the cup toward me. “Coffee delivery.”
I just stared at it. “I didn’t order any coffee.”
The woman shrugged. “Order came through. Said to deliver to ‘Ms. Bishop’ in the east hallway outside the press room.”
She glanced at her watch. “Look, do you want it or not? I’ve got three more deliveries.”
“Sure, thanks.” I accepted the cup, which was still wonderfully hot against my palm.
She disappeared back down the hallway and I examined the cup. No name on it beyond “Ms. Bishop” scrawled in black marker. I popped the lid and inhaled the heavenly aroma of dark roast with vanilla. Taking a cautious sip, I found it to be just a normal, heavenly-tasting coffee with vanilla creamer.
In my paranoia, I briefly wondered if this was some elaborate assassination attempt, but honestly, if someone wanted to kill me, poisoning my coffee would be disappointingly mundane compared to the usual Super theatrics.
More likely, Simmons had been monitoring the security feeds. That man had an uncanny sixth sense for when people in his orbit needed rescue, even the caffeinated kind.
I smiled. Bless Simmons and his butler superpowers. In a world of Heroes who could bend reality, sometimes the most heroic act was just noticing when someone needed a cup of coffee and a moment to breathe.
I took another sip of the perfectly prepared coffee, letting the warmth seep through me.
This wasn’t the first time mysterious sustenance had appeared exactly when I needed it.
Coffee would materialize when I was drowning in paperwork.
Sandwiches would appear when I’d forgotten lunch existed as a concept.
Once, after a particularly brutal day, I’d found a slice of chocolate cake waiting.
The expensive kind from the bakery downtown that always had a line around the block.
Havoc and Simmons had been giving me space since the whole Cipher disaster. No interrogations about my feelings. No awkward pep talks about moving on. Just quiet support in the form of caffeine and calories.
It was their way of saying “we’re here” without crowding me. Though I suspected Simmons was the mastermind. Havoc’s idea of comfort food would probably be protein bars that tasted like chalk and were denser than a brick.
Whatever was going to happen with Cipher, at least I had this strange little family looking out for me. Even if their idea of emotional support was stealth coffee delivery.
A burst of applause jolted me from my coffee-induced moment of peace. The noise from the press room had escalated from polite murmurs to the distinctive chaos of post-conference scrambling.
Shit. I didn’t know how long I’d been gone. Time becomes weirdly elastic when you’re having an existential crisis on a hallway bench.
I downed the remaining coffee and hurried back toward the door. The press conference had clearly ended, and now the vultures were circling their separate prey.
Havoc could handle himself. Helios was probably making everyone feel warm and fuzzy with his welcoming personality.
But Valor? I’d known the man for exactly one day, and already knew his ego had its own gravitational pull.
I slipped back into the room just in time to hear him telling a reporter, “—naturally, Havoc sees me as his successor. The torch must pass eventually.”
My soul left my body for a brief vacation. One day. I’d been assigned to him for ONE DAY and he was already planning Havoc’s retirement party.
I pushed through the crowd. Bodies pressed against me from all sides as reporters jockeyed for position around Valor.
“Excuse me,” I said, trying to squeeze between two broadcast journalists with hair that defied both gravity and taste. They didn’t budge. Of course not. I was just a Keeper, the human equivalent of furniture in a room full of people hunting quotes from actual Supers.
I was still ten feet from Valor when I saw her approach him. Martha Sands from Hero Analysis Quarterly. The publication that influenced Alliance funding decisions and not the glossy entertainment magazines that cared about Valor’s skincare routine.
Martha looked exactly like what she was: a brilliant analyst who cared about substance over style, dressed in wrinkled khakis and a cardigan that had probably witnessed the rise and fall of several Super Hero dynasties.
“Mr. Valor,” Martha said, notebook in hand. “Your power set seems remarkably similar to Helios’. How do you differentiate your heroic approach given the overlap in abilities?”
It was a legitimate question but Valor’s perfect smile dimmed by exactly two molars.
“I don’t really think we’re in the same league,” he said, voice dripping with condescension. “Helios is serviceable. But my powers operate on a completely different level of sophistication. Perhaps your readers wouldn’t understand the nuances.”
Oh no.
Oh god.