Page 36 of Cipher's Baby Girl
Angel's laugh is sharp and disbelieving. “First of all, Cipher doesn’t haveconquests. Second, Cipher doesn't call anyone pet names. Ever."
"In the entire time I've known him, I've never heard him use an endearment with anyone," Sophie adds, her expression thoughtful. "Not once."
"Are you sure?" I ask, something fragile and hopeful fluttering in my chest.
"Positive," all three women confirm in unison.
I sit back, trying to process this new information, not sure what it means, if anything.
I’m so lost in thought that I barely notice as one by one each of the women returns to the dance floor until I’m left alone at the table with Rash.
“I need to know the truth about him, Rash,” I say decisively. “I deserve to understand what I’m dealing with."
"It's not my story to?—”
“Stop! Stop saying that! Everyone keeps saying that," I reply, frustration edging into my voice. "But no one will actually tell me anything. Just that he'scomplicatedordamagedornot good with people. That's not helpful."
“Right.” His eyes flick briefly to my still-flat midsection, and his expression softens with sympathy before turning serious again. "You’re right, given the circumstances. But you didn't hear this from me."
"Understood."
He takes a deep breath. "Cipher was born different. Brilliant—like, genius-level brilliant—but also probably on the autism spectrum, though no one diagnosed that back then." He fiddles with a coaster, clearly uncomfortable. "His parents didn't understand him. They thought there was something wrong with him because he wasn't like other kids."
My stomach tightens, already sensing where this is going.
"They beat him, abused him,” Rash continues, voice low. "Called him a freak, a weirdo, used to lock him in closets for hours when he displayed what they calledfreakish behavior. Which was just Cipher being himself—focusing intensely on patterns, asking too many questions, not making eye contact."
A sick feeling spreads through me. I know what it's like to live with someone who uses their power to hurt you simply because you exist.
"When he was fifteen, he was caught hacking into a supposedly secure government database—just because he could. Instead of arresting him, they recruited him. Saw his genius and wanted to use it." Rash's expression darkens. "The government trained him to be a weapon. Taught him to kill, to torture, to extract information. Exploited his natural abilities and turned them into something deadly."
“Our government did this? To a teenager?" I whisper, horrified.
Rash nods grimly. "It gets worse. When he was in his early twenties, they sent him on a mission that went sideways. The official story is that his handlers sacrificed him to protect other assets. Left him to be captured by enemies of the state."
They sold him out?! My hand flies to my mouth. "No..."
"He was held and tortured for months," Rash says, his voice dropping even lower. "Those scars? That's where they came from. I don’t know all of what was done to him, but I know they did unspeakable things to him, Rose."
Tears spring to my eyes as I imagine Cipher—brilliant, isolated Cipher—suffering alone. His scars suddenly take on new meaning—not just marks of pain, but a map of betrayal and survival.
"How did he escape?" I manage to ask.
"He never talks about that part," Rash admits. "But Ghost once said that when they found him, he was covered in blood—not all of it his own. The rumors are that he single-handedly killed everyone in the compound where he was held. All twenty-seven of them."
I should be horrified. I should be afraid. Instead, all I feel is a fierce, protective rage on his behalf. "Good," I say with conviction. "They deserved it."
Rash studies me with surprise. “Yeah…um…right. "
My hand drifts to my stomach again, a new thought forming. Is this why Cipher pushed me away? Not because I wasn't enough, but because he believes he's too damaged? Because he thinks his darkness might somehow hurt me or... any child we might have?
"He doesn't think he deserves you," Rash says as if reading my mind. "Cipher believes he's poison—that he destroys everything he touches. He's pushing you away because in his fucked-up logic, he thinks he's protecting you."
The pieces fall into place with startling clarity. The hot-cold behavior. The tenderness followed by cruelty. The way he watches me when he thinks I don't notice. He's not disgusted by me—he's afraid of himself.
And now I'm carrying his child, binding us together in a way he can't dismiss.
"I need to tell him about the baby," I say softly. "Soon."
