Page 33 of Falcon’s Forever

“No.” His stare remains fixed on me. “Try.”

I rub a hand over my face. “Cara told me she blamed me for not finding her.”

Vulture is quiet for a moment. “That’s a rough thing to hear.”

“She had every right,” I remind him.

“I didn’t say she didn’t.” He leans forward and braces his forearms on the desk. “Do you know what your problem is?”

“I’ve got a few,” I reply.

“You think guilt makes you loyal,” Vulture says. “You think that if you stop hurting, it means what happened to her mattered less.”

Cold moves through me because he isn’t wrong. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Sure,” he says, clearly unconvinced.

“It’s not,” I insist.

“Then why are you drinking yourself unconscious and riding like every guardrail personally offended you?” Vulture demands.

I don’t have an answer that isn’t the truth, and I’m not ready to say it aloud twice in one day.

“Pain isn’t penance, Falcon,” he says, his voice quieter now.

“I know,” I tell him.

“Stop saying you know when you’re not doing anything with it.” Vulture settles back in his chair. “Start smaller.”

“How?” I ask.

“Do your fucking job,” he replies.

I stare at him. “Inspirational.”

“I’m your Prez, not your therapist,” Vulture points out.

“You could’ve fooled me today,” I mutter.

“Fuck off,” he says, but some of the tension leaves his face.

Some of the weight lifts from my chest despite myself.

Vulture opens a folder on his desk. “Condor got something off the burner Rook took.”

My attention sharpens. “What did he find?”

“Three texts,” Vulture explains. “The outgoing messages were wiped, but the incoming ones didn’t clear properly.”

He slides a sheet of paper across the desk. It shows the revised supply time, the warehouse address, and a single word.

CONFIRM.

My stomach turns cold. “They knew.”

“Yeah,” Vulture confirms.

“That wasn’t random.” I look up from the paper. “How did they get the change?”