The Gender Game 5: The Gender Fall(89)

“We can work with that,” said Ms. Dale. “We can appear as fans, or even use Mr. Croft in some way—connecting a former fighter to another former fighter. Possibly looking for work?”

Viggo shook his head. “I think it might be risky to use my real name. They’ve probably dragged it through the mud and back. If I go, I’ll have to wear a disguise of some kind.”

Ms. Dale waved her hand again dismissively. “We can figure that out once we have a better way to proceed, but honestly, I do think this holds the seeds of something. If we could just get public opinion to turn against Elena…”

“It could weaken, if not destroy, her hold on Patrus,” announced Owen. I turned, surprised to hear him speaking, and found him standing behind everyone, his arms crossed, his expression turned inward, contemplative and dark. “But is that really going to make a big difference for us? For the boys? All we do is take wild shots and chances, and all they do is recover and hit back—and when they do, they hit us where it hurts. How does this… plan… help us achieve any of our goals?”

I frowned and took a step toward him. “Our goal is to help people,” I reminded him. “Patrians, Matrians—it doesn’t matter at the end of the day, as long as we try.”

Owen lowered his arms and shook his head slowly, as though thinking out loud. “Wouldn’t it help more people, ultimately, if we went straight to the top? Maybe we should stop focusing on symptoms of the problem and go straight for the cause. Elena or Desmond, it doesn’t matter which one, but that’s who we should be going after. Finish things once and for all.”

Behind me, I sensed Viggo straightening up, but it was Amber who spoke. “What are you proposing?” she asked.

Owen met my gaze, and then looked away, shifting slightly. “What if we give Desmond what she asked for?” he said hoarsely. “We do like Violet did: tell her about the real egg, offer her Maxen… or maybe even Violet, as bait. We just need something to tell Desmond. Something to draw her in close enough to put a bullet in her head.” His eyes were suddenly glued to my face, as though pleading with me. “Then we could make sure she never hurts any of them again. Then we could… we could protect them.”

I gaped at Owen, understanding the dark place in his mind this was coming from. Sometimes I had wanted just such an outcome so badly I could taste it. But we’d already chosen not to do things that brutally unless we were forced. Even if it was only one possible option, the thought of offering myself up again was almost nauseating. A wave of dizziness assaulted me as I thought about the last time I had done that, the twisted images of losing my fight with Tabitha—badly—coursing through me, taking me back to the worst moments.

“We are not doing that,” said Ms. Dale, a note of finality in her voice. “Nobody is being used as bait again. It’s too unpredictable, and it’s certainly not humane.” I almost sagged in relief as I heard her say it; then I felt a surge of guilt, as though cowardice had a flavor and I suddenly tasted it on my tongue. Could I save the boys by sacrificing myself? But at the same time, a more rational part of my mind protested as well. While Tabitha had been evil, she had also been exploitable. Her temper and arrogance had often gotten the better of her, and that had been her weak point. I’d known that going in.

Desmond had plans and fallbacks and a calm, rational mind that could cut through any gamble we took almost before we could conceive it. Even if I was willing to make that sacrifice—something I couldn’t consider until I was fully functional again, at least—I wouldn’t do it unless we had a foolproof plan.

I felt Viggo place his hand on my shoulder, and without thinking, I reached up and took it, appreciating the support. After a heartbeat or two, I looked up and met Owen’s gaze. His expression morphed into one of regret when he met my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice coming out a whisper. “You’re right, of course. I just…” His hands curled into fists as he trailed off, and then he shook his head. “I don’t think I should be here right now. I’m… I’m going to go get some air.”

We watched as he left, walking out of the room with sharp, agitated steps, as if he had just lit a match and set the whole place on fire. As I watched him go, I couldn’t help but feel that, in a way, he had. But instead of being angry, now it just made me feel worse for the choices before him. As much as it made my heart ache, there was nothing I could do for him right now. I knew, better than most, that this was a fight he had to face himself.