The Gender Fall (The Gender Game #5)

I knew it was true because the patrol had taken Mr. Kaplan with them after they had torn apart his home looking for us. We’d waited far too long—for the silence that had reigned after the crashing and shouts. But nothing had happened. We’d had to push the painting off the secret entrance to our hiding place, and it had seemed sad to see it fall to the floor—until we’d seen the destruction wreaked by the Matrian wardens. As terrible as it sounded, I was glad Violet had passed out before the women came into the house. And I was glad she had stayed that way as we’d picked our way out of the overturned dressers and broken furniture in the hall, sneaking out into the fields, then to these woods, unsure whether the Matrians had truly moved on from the area yet.

It was clear the wardens hadn’t known for certain we were there—if they had, maybe they would’ve burned the house down, or worse. I’d seen enough to know the kind of violence the Matrian wardens were willing to stoop to. I could only guess what lies Elena was feeding to her people to maintain her control on them… or if the fractured stability, as false as it was, that had settled over the land could even withstand the bombing of the king’s palace. A part of me wondered if Elena hadn’t just told the truth about who bombed the palace. Tabitha was a princess, after all, and Violet had attacked and—hopefully—killed her. The populace could easily side with the queen on this if they believed the “facts” they’d already been given.

I felt bad for Mr. Kaplan, but a part of me knew the Matrians would’ve taken him regardless of whether we were there or not. That was another element of their plan—taking the men of Patrus—and Mr. Kaplan, with his solitary lifestyle, would have been an easy target. Still, my heart ached for him, and the ache translated into rage pulsing through my blood as I ran, just another grievance to fuel the fire of my anger. I hoped we could stop this crazy secret war Elena was waging, and soon, before Mr. Kaplan suffered at their hands along with so many others. But right now, I had only one concern: getting Violet to our doctor and to safety.

I glanced over at Owen, looking for some sign we were drawing closer to where he had hidden the vehicle. I frowned as I realized we still weren’t there. That realization was followed by sudden irrational annoyance.

He should’ve hidden the damn car closer! We could’ve already been in it by now if Owen hadn’t been so thorough.

It took an effort to push the anger aside, my rational mind picking apart the flaws in the sentiment. It wasn’t fair to Owen—we were in grave danger, and the car was our only form of transportation. Keeping it safe from discovery was a matter of life or death. Besides, it wasn’t Owen’s fault we were running through the forest. It wasn’t really Violet’s, either. It wasn’t even mine, although I couldn’t help but blame myself somewhat for not reaching Violet sooner.

No—the fault for all of this fell at Elena’s feet. And Desmond’s. They had pushed us all to our breaking points and beyond. They had used us, manipulated us, and then tried to get rid of us, all in their ambition to take control of our little world. All for power.

And then Tabitha had lured Violet into the palace, using her family as leverage. Violet had gone willingly, and she had even devised a plan… but I still wasn’t sure if it had been worth it. Not with how badly she had been injured in the fight. She would have died if I hadn’t come for her.

My grip tightened around her involuntarily, as if checking she was still real. Still alive in my arms. I paused to gently press her chest, and was reassured by the steady thump under my hand. She was still there. The relief I felt was small and fleeting—we weren’t out of the woods yet. Literally.

Owen tapped my arm and pointed at something, and I saw a flash of gunmetal gray through the trees. I made for it, following Owen, my breathing labored. Owen scampered ahead, leading us into a small clearing. He had dragged a few branches over the hood and roof of the car we’d taken from Ashabee’s armory and was now snatching them off and tossing them aside. He had hidden the car while I was convincing Mr. Kaplan to help us, and it must have taken him a lot of effort to drive it this far and disguise it. I was impressed.

He was almost done when I reached the car, and he turned to look at me. “Do you want me to take her so you can drive?” I shook my head, subconsciously pressing Violet tighter to my chest. Not that I didn’t trust Owen—I just wouldn’t let her out of my arms until we were safe. He nodded, understanding, and opened the passenger door for me.

He moved out of my way as I carefully climbed into the vehicle, trying not to jostle Violet more than necessary. Once I had arranged her in my lap and moved her legs clear of the door, I gave Owen a hurried nod, and he closed the door quickly.

The young man raced around the front of the vehicle and got into the driver’s seat. I waited, summoning my dwindling patience, as his movements seemed to take forever. He buckled up and slid the key into the ignition, twisting it.

The car whined and then fell silent. Owen looked at me, concern heavy on his face, and tried again. The whine returned, followed by a few sharp shudders, and then the noise stilled again. The concern on Owen’s face intensified as he tried the keys once more.

My patience evaporating, I leaned over and violently slammed my fist down on the dashboard. With a roar, the car came to life. Owen arched an eyebrow, a bemused expression on his face, but I ignored it, turning back to Violet. Her breathing was shallow and erratic, and she stirred fitfully, as if caught in a bad dream.

She murmured Tim’s name, and I frowned, a fresh wave of guilt hitting me. Her brother was so important to her—I had no idea how to tell her what had happened to him.

Owen put the car in gear and slowly pressed the accelerator, picking his way carefully across the forest floor, dodging trees and stumps, the wheels dragging in deep drifts of leaves. I kept my eyes sharp, looking for any sign of the Matrian patrol.

“Where is the rendezvous?” I asked, clutching Violet tighter as the tire bumped over something protruding out of the ground.