The Gender Fall (The Gender Game #5)

A span of silence followed my words. Owen wetted his lips, but didn’t offer any argument.

“We can also be smart about it,” I continued, beginning to formulate a plan in my head. “If there are cameras at the mansion, we’ll be able to see them. If there are guards visible, Tim is probably either not there, or held prisoner. We probably won’t be able to rescue him with just the two of us, so in that scenario, we’ll just leave without being seen and go consult the others. How does that sound?”

Owen turned away from me, moving a few steps off. I stood, knowing he didn’t have much reason to follow me, but hoping he might—because I definitely couldn’t do this alone.

Finally, he turned around, his face grim but determined.

“Okay, Violet. We’ll check there.”

The smile that grew on my face was wide and hurt a little on one side, but no amount of pain could stop it. “Owen, you have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you so, so much.”

The look he gave me was one of melancholy, but he seemed to push it aside, offering me a wan smile. “Of course. Let’s just get this done, okay?”

I realized, in my hurry to thank him, my response had been an insensitive one. Of course he knows what this means to me. He’d do anything to get his brother back. My first instinct was to apologize, but that would have only rubbed in the painful subject, so I cleared my throat and nodded silently, before sliding back into the passenger’s seat.

Owen started the car and backed us down the hill, heading toward the road. I stared out the window as we drove, trying to contain my hope and fear. We navigated the slow, small dirt roads, a car or two passing us, but there didn’t seem to be any sign of Matrian forces on patrol, raising my hopes just a little further. Then, as Owen made a turn, I saw the familiar lines of the mansion’s outer walls begin.

He slowed as we approached the gate. It was still there, closed, with the wooden slats on one side, from where Tim and Jay had fixed it.

“See any new cameras on the inside?” I asked Owen. I knew where the cameras were on the gate, but they couldn’t see us yet through the vehicle’s tinted windows.

“Not yet,” he replied tersely.

“Okay. Why don’t you pull up past that spot over there?” I indicated a place on the wall that looked familiar to me, and Owen did as I asked. Swiveling in my seat, I grabbed a gun with a silencer from the backseat and raised it with my left hand. I rolled the window down just a crack and stuck out the muzzle. Aiming carefully, I fired several times.

“What are you doing?” Owen whispered.

“I’m destroying the camera by the gate,” I replied, “so it won’t see you when you try to open the gate.”

Owen exhaled. “Okay.” He pulled up to the terminal, rolling down the tinted window and quickly entering Amber’s code while I looked nervously down the drive. I checked my side, but the road was clear. No vehicles were in sight.

The gate rattled as the unbroken half slid out of the way. It moved too loudly and too slowly for my taste, but I used the time to rummage through the car, gathering supplies we might need. As soon as there was enough space, Owen nudged the car up the drive, the two of us scanning for danger while we headed for the massive steps that led up to the house.

“Clear here,” Owen admitted. “Still no guards.”

“Can you pull up as close to the porch steps as possible?” I asked.

I did the same as before, taking aim at the other camera I knew was somewhere outside, with its own microphone, waiting to capture whomever was coming in the front door. The window held my gun steady, but it still took me more rounds than I would have liked to clip the small electronic eye, damaging it and obscuring the lens with chips of stucco and dust.

After that we waited—for what seemed like hours, but must have only been fifteen minutes. I figured if nobody came to the door to check on who had blown the camera out, either they weren’t checking the security system, they were huge cowards, or there was just nobody there at all.

Finally, after glancing at my watch over and over again, I looked at Owen. “You still think somebody might be here?”

“We can’t be too cautious,” was his reply. “But I’m willing to risk it. I’ll take the ground floor and the secret basement. You head upstairs.”

“Thank you.” I grasped his right forearm and squeezed it, then began moving.

Reaching the doors of the house, I pushed them open and stepped in. Nothing had really changed, but there were signs of our evacuation everywhere—dirty footprints, abandoned pieces of equipment. Still, the furniture was intact, everything where we had left it.

A shiver ran down my spine as my footsteps broke through the clinging silence. “This place is kind of creepy now, huh?” I said softly, wincing at how loud my voice was in the quiet.

“Yeah,” Owen murmured. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Tim?” I called cautiously, as I headed up the stairs. “Tim, are you here?”

I pushed open the door to the bedroom Viggo and I had shared, finding it empty. C’mon, Tim, please be here. I moved through the hallways, opening doors and checking each one for any sign of my brother, but each room was empty. I moved past the damaged walls, still stained with blood from where Henrik had been shot.

It took nearly thirty minutes to check each room, but to be honest, after ten, I had already begun to doubt. There was no sign that anyone had been here since our group had abandoned the place. Everything looked the same on these levels, some of it unchanged since I had left. Beds were unmade, and everything wore a dark layer of dust.