Chapter 9 #2
My chest tightened as I realized he really had cancelled the fight to bring me food.
Canceling a Primetime match would cost him an exorbitant amount of money in fines.
It would damage his League standing and invite retaliation from Ironclad.
He had fucked up his own fight schedule and reputation just to sit in my kitchen and watch me eat.
And I hadn’t even thanked him. I’d been too busy maintaining my wall of righteous indignation to acknowledge that he’d gone out of his way to bring me food.
Gentle love brought flowers. Cipher’s love torched its own world just to make sure I ate. The weight of that devotion was terrifying.
I shoved the thought away because I was going to lose my mind if I didn’t. I filed it in the mental cabinet labeled “Cipher Problems I Don’t Have the Emotional Bandwidth to Process Right Now.” That cabinet was getting dangerously full.
I pulled up the assessment form on my tablet, as the fighters entered the arena to thunderous applause and the match began.
I was grateful for the distraction. The email from Alliance PR continued to glare at me with its red exclamation mark, but I swiped it away.
Later. Everything could wait until later.
About fifteen minutes in, the camera panned to show the reaction of the crowd, then cut to a platform where junior Heroes were watching. A young man in a blue and silver costume was gesturing excitedly, demonstrating something to his companions.
Then it happened.
The Hero suddenly clutched his chest, his face contorting in pain. He staggered backward, his body convulsing violently. Before anyone could react, he pitched forward over the railing, plummeting toward the arena floor.
Helios and Valor, who had been arguing about some inane point of the matchup, went silent.
The camera lingered just long enough to show the unnatural angle of the junior Hero’s limbs, the stillness that could only mean one thing, before cutting abruptly to a commercial for energy drinks.
“Oh god,” I whispered.
Helios had gone pale. “That was Sunspot. He was just promoted last month.”
Valor stared at the screen, for once without a quip or comment, his perfect features frozen in shock.
Two deaths. Two people had died during televised matches in the same week, people who weren’t even the combatants. It was unheard of.
Havoc turned to Valor and Helios, who were still staring at the screen in stunned silence.
“We’ll meet later to discuss what we observed of the match techniques,” he said, his voice unnaturally calm. “For now, I suggest you both take some time to process what we’ve witnessed.”
Valor nodded mechanically, his usual swagger absent. “Should I cancel tonight’s interview?”
“No,” Havoc replied. “Just keep the focus on your training, not on today’s tragedy.”
Helios looked like he might be sick. “I knew him.”
“All the more reason to take the evening to collect yourself,” Havoc said gently. “Annie, stay behind please.”
The two Heroes filed out, leaving silence in their wake. I couldn’t shake the image of Sunspot’s body hitting the arena floor. The unnatural stillness that followed.
Havoc waited until the door closed before saying, “I heard from the Aegis last week.”
My stomach tightened. The Aegis rarely reached out directly unless something significant was happening. “About what?”
“Remember the Keeper?” he asked.
I closed my eyes and shook my head, like I could shake the image of her blood from my memory. “I can’t forget.”
“That’s just the tip of the iceberg.” Havoc handed me a tablet with a spreadsheet displayed. “Twenty-three deaths in the last month. All labeled as natural causes or equipment malfunctions. That junior Hero? He’ll be on this list.”
I scanned the list, my eyes widening. “That can’t be right.”
“It is. Fifteen ‘natural causes’—heart attacks, strokes, aneurysms. Eight technical failures.” Havoc’s voice was grim. “The Aegis wanted an investigation, and they wanted me to lead it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before now?” I demanded. Twenty-three people dead while I’d been worrying about coffee deliveries and fake dating arrangements.
Havoc sighed, the lines around his eyes deepening. “Because you’ve barely been hanging on, Annie. I’ve watched you jump at shadows for months. Then I dumped Helios and Valor in your lap on top of everything else.” He gestured toward the tablet. “This felt like one burden too many.”
“That wasn’t your call to make,” I said, heat rising in my cheeks. “I—”
“It was exactly my call,” Havoc cut me off, his voice firm but not unkind. “I’m responsible for you, not just professionally.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he held up his hand.
“I had to make the call, and I did. But now I need your help.” His expression softened. “You’re not just my Keeper because you’re my kid, Annie. You’re my Keeper because you’re damn good at your job.”
The compliment caught me off guard. Havoc wasn’t one for empty praise.
“These deaths aren’t accidents,” I said, looking back at the list. “Too many, too similar.”
“Exactly.” Havoc nodded.
My mind raced through possibilities. “Heart attacks, aneurysms—those could be induced with the right technology. Or powers.”
“Or both,” Havoc added grimly.
I pulled up a new empty document on my tablet and started taking notes.
“Most of these deaths aren’t high-profile Supers,” Havoc continued. “They’re support staff, two retired Heroes, people connected to training facilities, mostly junior Heroes. The kinds of deaths that don’t make headlines individually, but collectively...”
“Do they have any leads?” I asked, feeling cold.
“Nothing concrete. But they’ve noticed something else. All of the deceased had connections to the same training group from about eight years ago.”
I scrolled through the list, my heart pounding harder with each name I recognized. Most were people I’d only heard of in passing, junior Heroes who never made it to the big leagues, support staff who worked behind the scenes. But then a familiar name caught my eye.
“Helios is on this list,” I said, looking up at Havoc. “William Evans. That’s Helios.”
Havoc nodded grimly. “He’s part of that training group. One of the few high-profile members still active.”
I studied the list again, trying to make connections beyond the training group. “What are they doing to protect them?”
“Increased security, medical monitoring.” Havoc ran a hand through his hair.
“I can’t do much about the deaths from natural causes yet, I’m still waiting for the autopsy reports to be released.
But I can do something about the malfunctioning technology.
I want you to contact someone for me. Goes by the name Wraith. ”
I frowned. “Wraith?”
“He’s a tech advisor, but unknown to the general public. Not affiliated with the Alliance or the League.” Havoc’s expression was unreadable. “He’s hard to get ahold of and even harder to work with, but he’s the best.”
“If he’s not with the Alliance or League, how do you know him?” I asked, curiosity piqued.
“I needed some help before and I was put in contact with him.” Havoc’s tone made it clear he wouldn’t elaborate further. “I need him to analyze the equipment that malfunctioned. If someone tampered with it, he’ll find evidence.”
“I’ll draft a message right away,” I said, making another note.
Havoc nodded. “I’ll send the contact info to you.”
Out of curiosity, I asked, “Why me? If he’s that important, wouldn’t you want to handle this personally?”
Havoc’s mouth quirked into something almost resembling a smile. “Two reasons. First, he’s notoriously difficult to reach. Might take a dozen attempts before he responds.”
Great. Another project to add to my overflowing plate.
“And second?”
“He’s impossible to work with.” Havoc leaned back in his chair. “Arrogant. Condescending. Brilliant but knows it. The man makes Valor look humble.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And that’s supposed to convince me?”
“You’re a professional at handling megalomaniac assholes,” he said wryly. “Considering that’s your day job.”
I snorted. “Fair point.”
“Wraith is the definition of difficult genius. But if anyone can manage him, it’s you.” Havoc’s expression softened. “You’ve got a gift for handling difficult personalities. Even mine.”
A compliment twice in one conversation. A new record.
“Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll add ‘contact impossible tech advisor’ to my to-do list, right after ‘make Valor seem likable on camera.’”
Havoc chuckled. “That’s my Keeper.”
Back in my office, I spent twenty minutes crafting my message to Wraith, trying to strike the perfect balance between professional urgency and not sounding desperate. After triple-checking for typos, because apparently that’s what my anxiety latches onto when people are literally dying, I hit send.
The message disappeared into the digital void. No confirmation, no receipt, nothing to indicate it had reached its destination. Just gone, like it had never existed.
I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my eyes. Twenty-three deaths. The number kept echoing in my head, each repetition making my chest tighter. I wasn’t responsible for solving this, that was both Havoc’s and the Aegis’s job, but the weight of it pressed down on me anyway.
I pulled out my desk drawer and glanced at the purple rose.
I picked it up and twirled it between my fingers, my thoughts drifting to Cipher. Havoc wasn’t exactly wrong about my ability to handle megalomaniacs. I had extensive experience with the tech genius variety. Up close and extremely personal experience.
For a fleeting moment, I considered reaching out to Cipher instead. He could probably solve this mystery in half the time with a quarter of the effort. He’d certainly be easier to get ahold of.
But no. Bad idea. Catastrophically bad.