Page 199 of Villainous Rise

“What about the house?” she asked instead. “Where did you grow up?”

I exhaled slowly, grateful for the redirect. This was safer territory. Buildings didn’t have expectations or disappointments.

“East Kilbride,” I said. “Small town outside Glasgow. Nothing special about it, just another suburban development trying desperately to look quaint.”

Annie nestled closer, her body gradually relaxing against mine.

“The house was old stone on the outside, all modern inside. Three stories with these ridiculously narrow stairs. I had the attic room. Converted it into my first workshop when I was nine.”

“You were building things even then.” I could hear the smile in her voice.

“Always. Drove everyone crazy. Especially when I’d cannibalize household appliances for parts. There was this window in my bedroom. It looked out over the back garden. I’d sit there for hours, taking things apart, putting them back together. Building little inventions that no one ever saw.”

The memory surfaced before I could stop it—my mother’s face when she discovered I’d dismantled her expensive coffee maker. Not anger, but that familiar clinical assessment. The way she’d examine me like one of her patients, trying to diagnose what was wrong with her youngest child.

“My mother was a physician,” I said. “Pediatrician, actually. Ironic, considering how little she understood her own child.”

Annie’s fingers stilled on my arm. I could feel her attention sharpening, but she remained silent, letting me continue at my own pace.

“My father traveled constantly. International sales. Some company I can’t even remember the name of now. He’d bring back these expensive gifts, as if that made up for being gone nine months of the year.”

I hadn’t meant to say any of this. The words were just spilling out now, like a dam breaking after years of pressure.

“Six kids, and they barely had time for the normal ones, let alone the freak who kept taking apart the television.” I gave a short, humorless laugh. “When I started showing signs of being different—really different—they just... retreated. Professionally concerned but personally distant.”

Annie’s hand found mine, intertwining our fingers. “That must have been lonely.”

Lonely. Yes. That was exactly what it had been. Not just the isolation of being different, but the specific pain of being different under the microscope of people who should have loved you unconditionally.

“They were terrified of what I was becoming,” I continued, my voice dropping lower. “Especially after an incident with my two oldest brothers. When they realized I could hurt people, that I was stronger than I should be.”

I felt Annie’s pulse quicken slightly, but she didn’t pull away.

“The doctors, the medications—it was all just their way of trying to fix me. Make me normal. Make me safe.” I stared at the ceiling, memories I’d buried for years resurfacing with unexpected clarity. “They never asked what I wanted. What I needed.”

Annie squeezed my hand gently. “And what did you need?”

The question was so simple, yet no one had ever asked it before. What had I needed? The answer came with surprising ease.

“Someone who wasn’t afraid of me.”

I fell silent again, surprised by how much I’d revealed. These weren’t stories I told. These weren’t memories I revisited.

“Thank you,” Annie whispered, pressing a kiss to my jaw. “For telling me.”

I turned my head, capturing her lips with mine. I didn’t trust myself to speak. Didn’t trust what might come out if I opened that door any wider.

Instead, I pulled her closer, settling her against me so that she could nestle her head on my shoulder. I let her warmth chase away the ghosts of East Kilbride, of the lonely boy who had dreamed of becoming something more than a broken child.

After a few minutes, Annie’s breathing deepened, her body heavy against mine. I carefully brushed a strand of hair from her face, confirming what I already knew—she’d fallen asleep, exhausted from the emotional aftermath of what happened.

My mind drifted back to our conversation about my family. I’d told her more than I’d told anyone in years. Decades, really. But there was still so much I’d held back.

Like how I still checked on them.

The great Cipher, terror of Chroma Bay, secretly keeping tabs on the family that had disowned him. The family that acted like I’d died rather than become what I am.

I’d never told Annie about my nieces and nephews. Seven of them now. The oldest was fourteen—Eliza, my sister Katherine’s daughter. Smart kid. Too smart for her own good, maybe. Reminded me of myself at that age, always taking things apart to see how they worked.