Chapter 3 #2
Time slowed to a crawl. I suddenly developed the ability to determine exactly how many Alliance funding dollars were evaporating with each syllable that left Valor’s perfect mouth.
If I could leap over the sea of reporters between us, I would have.
Instead, I resorted to aggressive shoulder-checking that would make contact sports recruiters take notice.
“And frankly,” Valor continued, glancing at Martha’s outfit, “if you’re looking for a serious analysis, you might want to consider upgrading your presentation. First impressions matter in our line of work.”
I swallowed the strangled scream clawing its way up my throat, forcing it down with the restraint that I had drilled into myself since I was ten.
Martha’s expression shifted from professional curiosity to arctic frost.
I lunged forward, finally breaking through the last wall of reporters.
“Ms. Sands!” My voice came out an octave too high. “So wonderful to see you again. Valor is needed for an emergency consultation.”
Martha’s eyes flicked to me. “Keeper Bishop. Alliance PR has you on cleanup duty, I see.”
“I wasn’t finished—“ Valor began.
“Actually, you were,” I cut in, my smile stretched so wide I thought my face might crack.
I turned to Martha. “The Alliance is preparing a comprehensive analysis of all our top-tier Heroes’ unique contributions.
I’d be happy to schedule an exclusive with both Helios and Valor for you.
Next week in a proper sit-down environment. ”
Martha’s eyebrow arched. “How generous. I’ll be in touch.” She tucked her notebook away. “Though perhaps Mr. Valor could recommend a suitable outfit for the occasion? I’d hate to offend his delicate sensibilities with my practical footwear.”
Valor opened his mouth and I stepped on his foot.
“We look forward to it,” I chirped, grabbing Valor’s arm. “Now if you’ll excuse us, urgent Alliance business awaits.”
I steered him toward the exit and marched him down the hallway, trying to figure out the damage control needed. Martha Sands had the institutional memory of an elephant and the forgiveness capacity of a vengeful deity. She’d remember this slight until the heat death of the universe rolled around.
Once we were alone in an empty conference room, I turned to face Valor, prepared for the tantrum I’d sensed brewing since the press room.
But something shifted in his expression. The perfect, camera-ready smile vanished and the golden-boy persona melted away.
He advanced toward me slowly, using every inch of his six-foot-three frame to loom over me, backing me against the conference room table. A thin ring of gold burned bright around his irises, and the air in the room went thick, pressing against my skin.
It slid under my collar. Warm. Insistent. A pull behind my sternum, gentle at first, coaxing, then digging deeper, searching for a crack to slip through.
I crossed my arms and kept my face blank. I’d handled plenty of angry Supers. Valor would be no different.
“Careful,” I warned. “Using powers on a Keeper during official Alliance business is a violation.”
He didn’t answer. He just watched me, waiting, the gold in his eyes burning brighter.
My stomach dropped. He was waiting for something happen and it wasn’t happening. I had no idea what it was supposed to look like or how long I had before he noticed.
All I could do was hold still and give him nothing.
His brow creased. He leaned in, close enough that I caught the mint on his breath, and the pressure in the room pushed harder.
I dug my nails into my arm and kept breathing.
“You’re not reacting,” he said finally.
My mouth went dry. “To what?”
His eyes narrowed as he studied me, the gold flickering until he sneered.
He straightened, putting space between us, and the pressure in the room dropped away.
“Wonderful.” His voice had gone flat. “You’re one of those types.”
I knew better than to engage with a bruised ego but I asked anyway, curious. “What type is that?”
“The tragically defective variety,” he snapped. “A biological dead zone immune to my influence. I’ve met several others and each time it was profoundly annoying.”
My shoulders dropped a fraction. I’d been preparing for an interrogation. I dreaded having to invent a lie to explain my resistance. But if his ego needed to categorize my immunity as something mundane, I’d gladly let him.
He smiled but it never reached his eyes.
“Do you think I don’t know who Martha Sands is?”
The question caught me off guard, but I kept my expression neutral.
“I know exactly who she is,” he continued, placing one hand on the table beside me, caging me in without touching me. “I know exactly what she writes. I know exactly how much influence she has.”
“Then you’re even stupider than I thought,” I replied.
He laughed, a sound utterly devoid of warmth. “Oh, Annie. May I call you Annie? I insulted her on purpose.”
“What?”
“The cardigan comment. The condescension. All calculated.” His emerald eyes gleamed with pure, cold intelligence. “Martha will write a scathing piece about my arrogance, Alliance PR will panic, and I’ll issue the most heartfelt public apology you’ve ever seen.”
He leaned closer, his other hand coming up to rest on the other side of me.
“The redemption narrative guarantees me next month’s cover. Valor: The Hero Learning Humility. The public eats that shit up. Personal growth sells better than perfection.”
“You engineered a PR crisis to manipulate media coverage?”
“Welcome to day one of how this actually works.” His smile was razor-sharp. “Stop treating me like I’m some idiot who needs his hand held. I’ve been planning my ascension since Havoc’s approval ratings peaked three years ago. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
I pushed against his chest, forcing space between us. “If you’re so clever, why risk alienating a key Alliance funding reporter?”
“Calculated risk,” he said, not budging. “Martha respects authenticity. My apology will feel more genuine precisely because the insult was so genuine. She’ll appreciate the honesty of my initial reaction more than any brown-nosing I could have done today.”
I snorted. “That’s the most delusional thing I’ve heard all week.”
His expression darkened. “This is why you’re a Keeper and not a Hero. You see the rules, but you don’t see the game.” The pressure in the room intensified. “I don’t need some glorified secretary managing my conversations. You’re here to make me look good, not to think for me.”
“I’m here to make sure you don’t torpedo your career,” I snapped back.
“My career was never in danger.” He finally stepped back, the golden ring around his irises flashing a final time before dulling. “Know your place in the hierarchy, Annie. Don’t mistake yourself for someone who matters in our world.”
He turned and swept toward the door.
“When you speak to Havoc,” he called over his shoulder, “tell him I expect a more suitable Keeper next time. One who understands how the world actually works.”
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone with the lingering scent of his cologne and a nagging unease.
What exactly had Havoc seen in him?
I spent the rest of the afternoon drowning in damage control emails, crafting apologies to Martha that didn’t explicitly admit Valor was an ass, and scheduling the interview I’d promised. By the time I finally came up for air, the Tower had emptied, and darkness had fallen over the city.
The clock on my desk glared accusingly at me: 8:14 PM and I still had to do work for the Nemesis match.
Two hours later and I’d been staring at the same promotional materials the entire time, my eyes skimming over everything except the one thing I couldn’t avoid forever: the promotional flyer where Cipher’s image mocked me.
The promo department had given him a dramatic shadow effect that made him look like he was lurking in the darkness, waiting to ruin someone’s day. Accurate.
I realized I was grinding my teeth and I forced my jaw to relax, massaging the tight muscles of my cheek.
I ignored the flyer and tried to focus on the spreadsheets glowing on my monitor.
The numbers just blurred together into meaningless gray lines and it was getting harder to breathe deeply.
I needed order, something I could control.
I needed a simple task that didn’t involve lying Villains, oversized egos, or the terrifying reality of my own existence.
I grabbed the magnetic paperclip dispenser on the corner of my desk and dumped the contents onto the blotter.
The first time I sorted them, I categorized by size.
The second time, I went by color. It was a pathetic display of avoidance, but aligning the little metal loops gave my trembling fingers a purpose.
It grounded me in a reality where things had a designated place and followed predictable rules.
A knock at my door interrupted my third paperclip sorting session.
“Come in,” I called.
The door swung open, and Havoc’s distinctive footsteps entered. Heavier than most, with that slight hesitation between steps that came from decades of controlling immense power.
“You’re still here.”
“Just finishing up,” I lied. “These promotional materials needed review and I thought, why not spend my Thursday night with badly photoshopped images of Supers instead of, you know, having an actual life?”
Havoc moved closer, his shadow falling across my desk. I could feel his eyes on me, but I kept my attention firmly on the papers.
“The promotional team misspelled ‘exhibition’ as ‘exhibitionist’ on page three,” I said, pointing to the error.
“Annie.”
That was all it took for my carefully constructed composure to wobble dangerously. I finally looked up.
Havoc stood before me in casual clothes, dark jeans and a simple blue sweater that somehow made him look more intimidating than his battle gear. His hair was slightly disheveled.
“You’ve been avoiding him on paper for weeks,” he said quietly.
I swallowed hard. “I’m not avoiding anything. I’m being thorough.”
“You’re reordering your paperclips.”