Page 171 of Villainous Intent

I gaped at him. “So we’re just going to glance over what you just said?”

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation. “Don’t worry, I won’t count that question against you.”

I looked at him, utterly bewildered by his ability to compartmentalize.

Cipher raised an eyebrow, prompting me. “My question only requires a yes or no answer. I’ve gone easy on you for this one.”

“Yes?” I finally managed, my voice rising at the end like a question because I was absolutely floored by the emotional whiplash.

Cipher nodded once, all business now. “We’ll need to go to my lab.” He paused, his expression flickering for a moment. “My backup lab,” he amended.

I followed him out of his bedroom, trying to process too many contradictory signals at once. The tone of voice he’d used when describing his childhood trauma. The coldness when he’d questioned me about my parents. The flash of vulnerability when he’d admitted why he’d sent me away.

And now this. As if none of that had happened.

I watched the back of his head as he walked ahead of me, his hair still slightly mussed from sleep. How could he switch between vulnerable and detached so seamlessly?

I rubbed my fingers absently over my cuff. I’d just told this man my darkest secret, the power I’d absorbed, the reason for the cuff, and I still couldn’t read him, still couldn’t predict what he’d do with that information.

What the hell had I done?

Cipher’s secondary lab was smaller than his main, but no less impressive. Equipment lined the walls, and holographic displays flickered with data I couldn’t begin to understand.

“Feel free to ask your next question,” Cipher said, tapping a chair next to a workbench, clearly indicating I should sit in it. “You’ve already answered mine.”

I stared at the chair for a moment before reluctantly taking a seat. What was I supposed to ask now? How could we just continue this game after everything that had been said?

I sat in the chair, watching Cipher’s nimble fingers dance across holographic displays, bringing up diagnostic tools. His face was a mask of concentration.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing toward my wrist.

I nodded silently, extending my arm across the workbench. His touch was gentle as he positioned my arm under a scanner, his fingers warm against my skin.

“Let’s pause the game for thirty seconds,” he said suddenly, his eyes never leaving the holographic readouts appearing above my cuff.

I blinked, confused by the abrupt request. “What? Why?”

“I need to ask you something outside the parameters of our game,” he explained, still studying the data streams. “Can you take the cuff off?”

I instinctively pulled my arm back a few inches. “No. Only Havoc can remove it.”

Cipher’s eyes flicked to mine, sharp with interest. “Fascinating,” he murmured, gently guiding my arm back under the scanner. The gleam in his eyes made me nervous. He was looking at my cuff the way he looked at particularly challenging puzzles. With determination and hunger.

“Let’s unpause the game,” he said, returning his attention to the holographic display. “Your question, Annie.”

I stared at his face, painted in sharp angles by the display’s light. I didn’t care about the game anymore. I didn’t care about the rules of our arrangement or the careful boundaries we had drawn to keep ourselves safe. All I could think about was what he’d told me in the bedroom.

“Back in the bedroom,” I started, my voice tight. “When you said you wouldn’t let me go back to my⁠—“

“Stop.” Cipher’s fingers stopped moving over the display. He didn’t look up, but his sudden stillness was absolute. “Whatever you are about to ask, don’t.”

“But you said⁠—”

“I know what I said. And no matter what I said in there, nothing has changed between us, Annie. We continue as before.”

I pulled my arm back an inch and the scanner beeped a warning at the movement. “I just want to understand. You can’t drop something like that on me and expect me to just file it away.”

“Don’t do that, Annie,” he warned. “Don’t try to dissect what happened and twist it into something it wasn’t. Understanding doesn’t change reality. It just creates expectations that can’t be fulfilled.”