The Gender Fall (The Gender Game #5)

“You mentioned more than one person,” Viggo said softly, next to me.

Licking my lips, I nodded. “Jay,” I announced. “Think about it—he’s the best one to help him, and he can certainly handle his outbursts physically. But best of all, he and Cody share the same trauma. They both come from the same place. If Jay can just show Cody there is another way, maybe even a better one… then maybe it’ll go a long way in undoing what they have done to him.”

The hush in the room seemed loud in my ears, and I suddenly realized how passionate I had gotten in my speech. I shot a furtive glance at Viggo, who was staring at me, one eyebrow raised. He looked impressed.

Ms. Dale coughed politely, drawing my attention. “Well said, Violet,” she said. “I think with an argument like that, there’s no need for rebuttal.”

The room was silent, nobody objecting, and Ms. Dale burst out in a smile. “Great! Now, it’s about time we were checking in with Jeff. Thomas?”

“One second,” Thomas said, moving over to the handheld he had attached to one of the larger screens. He pressed a few buttons and then moved back.

Jeff’s face filled the screen, looking down on our weary command group.

“Ah, good!” he exclaimed. “Well, not good, considering the circumstances. Owen, please, I hope you’ll accept my deepest condolences regarding your loss. Words cannot even begin to express how much sorrow I feel on your behalf.”

Owen was standing slightly behind the rest of the group, his eyes still red-rimmed and bloodshot. He looked up at Jeff and nodded robotically. “Thank you, Jeff,” he said hoarsely. “It means a lot to me.”

“Sir, I’m sure it’s lost in the grand scope of your suffering and loss. To that end, I thank you for your politeness. If there is anything you should need, please feel free to reach out to me.”

For some reason, Jeff’s graceful handling of the situation, and the acknowledgement that he knew Owen was merely being polite in accepting, seemed to make the corner of Owen’s mouth tip up slightly. Not much—only a fraction of an inch—but I couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope that our Owen was still in there, somewhere. He just needed time.

Slipping my left hand into Viggo’s, I squeezed.

“Jeff,” said Ms. Dale. “What do you have for us? You mentioned an idea for how to get Violet’s video out in the public eye?”

Jeff nodded, his hand coming up to stroke across his mustache, which he had grown out into a much bushier and less groomed version of its earlier cut. “Ah, yes, ma’am. Of course. Well, as you know, information has been broadcasted to the public at several stadiums across the city, but none are as popular as Starkrum Stadium. I believe Mr. Croft may even have fought there, at one time?”

“Almost fought there once,” replied Viggo after a moment. “But I worked there as a warden on patrol many times.”

Almost fought there. It was because of me that he hadn’t. Viggo had sacrificed his first-ever big league fight to chase after me, after the Porteque gang had swiped me from his changing room. That truly seemed like a lifetime ago now, even though it’d only been months.

“Well, fighting and all sports events have been cancelled for the foreseeable future,” Jeff said. “Many of the fighters have disappeared, but there is one who has taken on a position of prominence at the arena. His name is Anello Cruz. Have you heard of him?”

Of course we had. Cruz was one of the top fighters in Patrus—the very fighter Viggo had been matched up against on that fateful evening. I also recalled a night before that, when Viggo had taken me to the stadium to watch Cruz square off against another major competitor named Rosen. And had quickly taken him down.

I could tell by the way Viggo was looking at me, his eyes still faraway but somewhere more familiar now, he too was remembering those early days of our relationship. I gave him a smile, and a ghost of one flew across his lips, then vanished. “I’ve heard of him,” he replied to Jeff’s question.

“Wonderful! Because I have become, well, ‘friends’ may be too loose a word to describe it, but we have become… acquaintances. Regardless, I think he likes me well enough.”

“That’s, uh, nice,” said Viggo, looking somewhat taken aback. “But what does that mean for us?”

“Ah, right. My apologies—I ought to curb my rambling. I think Mr. Cruz and myself are on good enough terms that I might be able to impose upon him for a favor. Namely, I think we can use him to get to the control box in the stadium.”

I frowned in confusion. Looking around, I noted similar expressions on the rest of the group’s faces. “I’m sorry, Jeff… the control box?” I asked. “I thought Elena was having people announce the news in the stadium on a microphone. Did that change?”

Jeff tipped his head to one side, his eyes widening, and then his confused look changed to one of mild chagrin. “I’m terribly sorry, ma’am. You’re right, of course. I forgot to mention Elena has gotten the massive screens working, and has now been sending out pre-recorded messages to all the public places they’ve been using to broadcast—mostly other stadiums.” The man’s mustached face grew almost animated, an expression I’d rarely seen from him. “Here’s the most important part. In an attempt, I think, to show me how important his position is, Cruz let slip to me that Matrians have turned Starkrum Stadium into their broadcast center for all of Patrus, since the palace has fallen. Most, if not all of the other broadcasts are streamed directly from this stadium. They send a guarded technician there once or twice a day to upload the video to their feed. According to Cruz, it’s all very specifically tailored to keep unauthorized access out—to broadcast, they need both the technician’s gear and the computer in the broadcasting room.”