The Gender End by Bella Forrest (the giving tree read aloud TXT) 📕

your bird and waiting for you. All right, everyone. Let’s get to work.”

Henrik scooped up the papers in front of him and stood up, and immediately everyone leapt into motion—except for Violet, Thomas, and me. Within seconds, the conference room was empty, and Thomas was looking at us, a wide smile on his face.

“I don’t normally brag, but I’m pretty proud of this plan,” he said, and I found that his enthusiasm was chasing away just a tiny bit of the anger and pain Maxen’s actions had stirred up.

“Then tell us,” I said, leaning forward, ready to finally put an end to this mess, once and for all.

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23

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Violet

Viggo tugged the straps tighter across my chest, making sure I was fully strapped in, and I exhaled nervously. “Why are we doing this again?”

It had to be the fifth time I’d asked the question, but to Viggo’s credit, he didn’t laugh at me. “Because we have to,” he said simply, pulling the strap to tighten it until it was snug against my shoulder.

I looked around the room, needing something to focus on. My eyes drifted over to Tim, and he gave me a thumbs-up. It took me a moment to conjure up a reassuring smile for him, but I managed.

“I think I need you to explain why one more time,” I breathed, and the heloship shuddered underneath me, making me grab onto the straps. For the hundredth time, I checked the area under my seat where I’d tied down my bag, reaching out to pat its solid weight. It was loaded down with all my gear and the precious silver egg I was going to have to carry around with me, I hoped, just one last time.

“C’mon, Violet,” Amber said over her shoulder, and I looked past Viggo to where she sat at the controls. “You’ve been flying with me dozens of times.”

“Yeah… It’s not you, Amber,” I said, trying not to panic as the heloship jerked and shuddered again. “It’s this plan. Just the first part, really…”

“The machines I saw when I was scouting with the drone are a design of Mr. Ashabee’s,” Thomas reminded me, his fingers flying over his handheld. He was also strapped in to a hard seat on the side of the ship, but the difference was… he looked indifferent. “It’s a defense mechanism that prevents unauthorized ships from traveling into Matrus, and I have to say, it’s quite well made. It was designed to pick up on the heat and vibrations of a heloship, and then automatically fire missiles at it—no warning. In order to defeat that system, we have to make it seem like the ship isn’t there. No vibrations, no heat. The only way to do that is if the engines are completely cut off.”

“There’s a bit more turbulence coming. The air up here is getting thin,” Amber commented on the tail of Thomas’ statement, and he grunted.

“It’s to be expected. We’re very high up. How are the thermals reading?”

“Outside is…” She paused and whistled. “Negative seven degrees.”

“Are we high enough up to, uh, drop?” I asked.

“Don’t think about it,” Viggo murmured, swinging himself into the seat next to me and starting to hook himself in tightly as well. “Just hold my hand and remember to breathe.”

I nodded and placed my hand on his thigh, trying to still the nervous way my breath was coming in and out of me. The cabin was definitely chilly, and even though I was bundled up, I could feel the cold trying to seep in. I knew heloships were designed to go high into the air—Amber had once explained to me that the cabin was pressurized and had an oxygen supply if necessary—but I didn’t like the way it just felt different up here.

Kneeling at the holotable, which was right now just acting as a regular table, Ms. Dale put down the small mirror she was using, closing the lid on the large silver cosmetics case she’d been fiddling with.

“What do you say, everybody? Have I lost any of my cosmetic skills?”

I stared at her as she packed up the mirror along with the case, welcoming the distraction from the upcoming drop. Ms. Dale had used the time it had taken us to fly to the very eastern borders of Matrus to stuff us into wigs and paint elaborate disguises onto our faces—she was just finishing up the final touches on her own, having made Morgan, Amber, and Viggo into virtually unrecognizable versions of themselves. Now it was her turn, and I stared openly: a black bob wig framing her made-up face, she looked younger by at least ten years—but probably closer to fifteen—and it even seemed like the shape of her face had changed.

“I’d say your skills must have gotten better in your old age,” Viggo smirked, teasing her with the compliment like he always did on missions. Ms. Dale tsked. “Be glad I didn’t have to make you look any older—your cover would have had to be Violet’s father.”

“Ouch,” Viggo said, feigning chagrin, and I smiled a little, warmed by their friendly banter. With his hair slicked back and tied at the neck, and those infamous wire frames perched on his nose, he was still Viggo—to me—but he hadn’t shaved since before the night of the water treatment plant, and now coarse dark hair ran along his cheeks and chin, thick and full. His disguise was meant to throw the Matrians off, although they were more likely to recognize Ms. Dale or me, but I had to admit that the entire look—especially the glasses—had left me feeling breathless when I had first seen it. I sighed, wishing that was the only thing to which I could attribute the butterflies in my stomach.

My own transformation had been more alarming than exciting—and it had been enough to confuse Viggo and Tim for a few seconds, which was certainly a good sign. I looked older, more mature, with bags under my eyes and the hollows in my