Page 192 of Villainous Intent

“What’s happening?” she asked, her voice steady despite her obvious fear.

The Council member spoke. “Dennis Reeves was murdered an hour ago.”

Annie’s face drained of color. Her hands gripped each other so tightly her knuckles went white.

“What would the Council have us do?” Havoc asked, his hands folded calmly on his desk.

“Behave as usual. Protect the asset.”

Asset? My blood ran cold as the Council member’s head turned back to Annie.

No. Fucking. Way.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up the Warden files I’d been ignoring. The survivor file expanded on my screen, and there she was, Annie Bishop. Age, physical description, blood type, genetic markers.

Warden status: Functional, but compromised.

The world stopped.

My hands froze above the keyboard as my brain refused to process what my eyes were seeing. Annie. A Warden. The last fucking Warden.

I stared at the file, waiting for the information to morph into something else, anything else. The letters remained stubbornly unchanged, mocking me. I zoomed in on her genetic profile, scanning the markers that made her what she was, the genetic anomaly that could strip powers from Supers.

From me.

I laughed. Of course. Of fucking course. The universe was a fucking sadist. I’d fallen in love with the one person genetically engineered to be my undoing.

My mind raced through every interaction, recontextualizing each moment through this new terrifying lens.

“No,” Annie’s voice came from the recording, her voice sharp. I forced my attention back to the screen, my entire body cold with dread.

“If Dennis is dead because he was a Warden, then he wasn’t hidden well enough,” she continued, like she was unable to stop the words pouring out. “And if he’s dead just because someone randomly killed him, then you didn’t do enough to protect him.”

My eyes darted between Annie’s fierce expression on the screen and the file confirming what I couldn’t process. I felt like someone had ripped my heart from my chest.

The Council member’s voice continued from the recording, each word driving another spike of horror through me.

“Are you certain, Ms. Bishop, that you’ve put your faith in the correct person?”

The room spun around me as the pieces crashed together in my mind. Annie hadn’t been manipulating me. She’d been asking a genuine question, a desperate one. Her life was actually on the line and I’d dismissed her, accused her of playing games.

What had I done?

“No, no, no...” My voice broke as I turned from the recording. I didn’t need to see more.

She’d come to me, terrified, asking if I’d tell her the truth if her life depended on it. Not as some emotional manipulation tactic, but because she was potentially facing death. And what had I done? I’d accused her of manipulating me. Washed my hands of her.

Then handed her to her executioner.

The rage I’d felt earlier transformed into pure, undiluted terror. My chest constricted so tightly I couldn’t breathe.

I lunged for the console, my hands trembling. Her cuff. Her power dampener. I’d “inspected” it, but what I hadn’t told her was that I’d installed a microscopic tracker, a move that had been pure possessiveness. I’d wanted to know where she was at all times.

I pulled up the tracking program.

“Please,” I whispered, not sure who I was begging. I didn’t believe in any higher power, I never had. But in that moment, I would have prayed to anyone or anything.

The screen blinked, coordinates appearing alongside a flashing dot.