Page 5 of Villainous Intent

And one masked Villain in particular hijacked my entire algorithm.

Cipher.

He was the League’s number one star. His fame, or infamy, depending on who you asked, only kept rising.

The world only ever saw his iconic half-mask visor, a featureless black mask that came to a subtle point just above his lips. leaving nothing but his mouth and jaw visible.

God, what a mouth it was. It was always caught in a cruel smirk, like he knew something the rest of the world didn’t.

Every time a new video of him appeared, my eyes instantly went to his mouth. I’d watch his lips curve into that infuriating half-smile that had taken up permanent residence in my most humiliating fantasies.

His personal absence from social media only fueled the community’s obsession. He didn’t post manifestos or taunt Heroes online. That silence created a vacuum that his fans filled with explicit theories and elaborate, filthy fantasies.

And I let myself be sucked right into the center of the madness. I read the theories. I watched the looped edits of his bare hands wrapping around a Hero’s throat. I sat in my sterile, rule-bound world, consumed by one of the very monsters I was supposed to condemn.

“Annie.” Havoc was staring at me, his eyes too perceptive. “Go home. That’s an order, not a suggestion.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he shook his head.

“I won’t force you to miss the match between Dread and Obsidian tomorrow, but you’ll only be there as an observer, not my Keeper,” he continued, his tone softening. “But you need to seriously think about taking a vacation. A real one. Before you burn out.”

I recognized a losing battle. “Fine.”

On my way back down to the lobby, I pulled my phone from my pocket and immediately regretted it.

My screen was a solid wall of Alliance notifications. Dozens of urgent messages stacked over each other. A dull ache at the back of my neck transformed from uncomfortable tightness into excruciating tension.

I swiped the entire cluster of notifications away without reading a single word and shoved my phone deep into my bag.

Thirty minutes later, I was fumbling with my keys outside my apartment door. My neck felt like it was in a vice, the pain radiating up my skull. If I didn’t deal with it soon, I’d be puking from a migraine.

“Dawn?” I called out as I stepped inside, already kicking off my shoes. “You home?”

Nothing but silence answered me, thank god. As much as I loved Dawn, I couldn’t handle her boundless energy just then.

I made a beeline for the bathroom, peeling off my clothes and leaving them in a sad little heap on the floor as I jumped into the shower. The hot water scalded my shoulders, needles of heat digging into knotted muscle. I moaned and didn’t care who heard. For the first time all day, something hurt good.

I emerged feeling semi-human again, wearing my oldest, softest pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt that read “I Survived the Battle of Pheonix Bridge,” merchandise from one of Havoc’s more publicized street clashes. I piled my wet hair on top of my head in a messy bun; future Annie could deal with the resulting weird flat spots because current Annie didn’t have the energy to give a single fuck.

After I poured myself a glass of wine, I settled onto my bed.

My phone buzzed again. Another Alliance alert, another demand, another reminder that I was always on. Always the responsible one.

I ignored the phone as I looked toward my laptop. I knew what I’d find there.

Him.

I set my wine glass on the nightstand and opened Villain Watch. The underground feed was already a mess of uploads and encrypted tags.

Holy hell.

An account had just dumped a fresh batch of images from the museum heist earlier today. Cipher dominated every single frame in all his glory. The first few shots were chaotic blurs of his black armor, capturing the precise moment he encountered the security team.

Then they turned into something that made my heart beat faster. In one, he was turned directly toward the security camera. Of course his mask revealed nothing, but that devastating mouth was perfectly framed. His lips were curved into an arrogant smirk that promised the exact brand of trouble that started with a whispered dare and ended with you begging on your knees.

His hand rested casually on a bit of railing. His long fingers curled slightly inward. I was already imagining those fingers wrapped around someone’s throat.

My throat.