Page 48 of Villainous Rise

“I haven’t even been given the chance to be your favorite,” Valor announced, striding into the room.

And there went my good mood.

“The match starts in five minutes,” Havoc said, mercifully cutting off whatever charm offensive Valor was about to launch. “Annie, did you bring the assessment forms?”

I nodded, pulling up the documents on my tablet. “Ready to go.”

Valor glanced between us and the screen. “Wait, we’re watching it here? Why aren’t we at the Colosseum? Don’t you have a box?”

My stomach dropped at the mention of the Colosseum. Suddenly, I wasn’t in Havoc’s office anymore but back in the cold access tunnels, Baron Ash’s hands on my skin, his breath on my neck.

“My box at the Colosseum is being renovated,” Havoc said smoothly. “Besides, we can analyze the fight better from here. Multiple camera angles, instant replay.”

I forced air into my lungs, focusing on the present. On the cookie in my hand. On the fact that I was safe.

Baron Ash is dead. He can’t hurt me.

I thought of the severed hands displayed in my office. A grotesque trophy, yes, but also a reminder. Cipher had made sure Baron Ash would never touch anyone again. Had hunted down every last one of his associates in a single night of bloodshed that had made headlines for weeks.

“Annie?” Helios’s concerned voice broke through my thoughts. “Are you okay?”

I blinked, forcing a smile. “Just thinking about the match-up. Toxica’s been working on some new techniques.”

Havoc caught my eye. He knew why I couldn’t go back to the Colosseum. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“The pre match is starting,” he announced, turning up the volume. “Let’s see if Granite’s finally figured out how to counter Toxica’s acid spray.”

I settled into my seat, grateful for Havoc’s excuse, for the fact that Baron Ash’s hands were in my office and not on my body.

I opened my tablet and winced at the notification from Alliance PR that had been sitting there all day with its little red exclamation mark. “URGENT: Valor Interview Prep - MUST READ.”

I’d get to it. Eventually. Probably right before the stylist showed up.

The guilt lasted approximately two seconds before being replaced by the much more pressing need to listen to the commentators give their pre-match news.

“—and in a surprising turn of events last night, Cipher canceled his scheduled fight with Ironclad at the last minute,” the commentator said. “No explanation was given for the sudden withdrawal.”

My cookie froze halfway to my mouth.

Wait. What?

“Speculation is running wild,” the second commentator chimed in. “Some sources claim he was pursuing a lead on Doctor Domino’s latest project, while others suggest he might be injured. Whatever the reason, Ironclad was not pleased with the last-minute cancellation.”

The cookie crumbled between my suddenly tense fingers. Last night. Cipher had canceled a fight last night. The same night he’d shown up at my apartment with sushi because I was “starving myself out of spite.”

Oh god.

He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t have.

Would he?

My brain helpfully replayed the timeline. His fight would have been at 7PM, standard for a night match for someone of his rank. He’d shown up at my door around 7:30 with food that must have taken time to acquire. And he’d stayed afterward.

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.