Page 44 of Villainous Rise

“You need options. And leftovers.”

He wasn’t just feeding me tonight, he was stocking my fridge. Making sure I’d have food tomorrow when he wasn’t here to supervise.

“So you’re just going to stand there and watch me eat?” I asked, trying to sound irritated rather than unsettled.

“Yes.”

“That’s not weird at all.” I chewed slowly, considering him. There were shadows under his eyes and his jawline looked sharper. Had he lost weight too? It was hard to tell. His Super physiology would maintain his muscles without him having to do any work to keep them himself. But something about him seemed hollowed out.

“What about you?” I asked.

His eyebrow arched. “What about me?”

“Are you eating? Sleeping?” I tried to make it sound accusatory, but the concern leaked through anyway. “Or is this some kind of hypocritical intervention?”

Cipher’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. Surprise, maybe, that I’d asked at all.

“I’m fine.”

“Right. Because that’s totally convincing.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I’m not the one refusing food out of spite.”

I took another bite. “Who’s checking on you? Since you’re so busy monitoring my caloric intake, who’s making sure you’re taking care of yourself?”

For a moment, some fleeting emotion crossed his face, too fast to really figure out quite what it was. Then his expression hardened again.

“Eat your food, Annie.”

But I’d seen it, that flash of something, and I couldn’t unsee it. I couldn’t ignore the realization that maybe no one was checking on him. That maybe he was just as alone as I was, just better at hiding it.

“Eat something. Or I stop eating.”

“I already ate,” he said, his expression shuttering closed.

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. That’s bullshit and we both know it.”

“I don’t need you to⁠—“

“What? Care?” I stabbed my chopsticks into the sushi rice like a tiny harpoon. “Too bad. Eat something or I’m done.”

We stared at each other, locked into a standoff over tempura vegetables.

“Why do you care?” Cipher asked, his voice unnervingly soft.

Good question. One I didn’t have a great answer for.

“I don’t,” I lied. “But if you’re going to force-feed me like I’m some kind of invalid, you can at least join me so it feels less like a medical procedure.”

I picked up a piece of tempura sweet potato with my chopsticks and shoved it directly toward his face.

“Open.”

His eyes dropped to the food hovering inches from his mouth, then snapped back up to mine.