Page 128 of Falcon’s Forever

“He hasn’t,” Digger says.

“Does he know that?”

“No.” He takes a drink of his coffee. “Probably for the best.”

I snort and turn back toward the room.

“You’re different,” he says.

“Everybody keeps saying that.”

Digger studies me. “Is it bad?”

“I don’t know yet.”

"Probably not," he says, and goes back to his coffee, and I let him have the last word.

The morning drags as it always does when the intelligence hasn't caught up to the waiting. I help Vulture review the patrol rotation, walk the repaired perimeter, check the temporary rooms without going inside. Cara's not there, she’s probably at the transition house with Emily, and I don't message her again, because I already said I would when it mattered and I'm not going to make that word mean less by using it too often.

At eleven forty Rook sends the first warehouse update. Two vehicles arrived, both commercial, nothing unusual. At twelve, one box truck leaves and somebody follows it at a distance.

At twelve thirty Cara appears outside the clubhouse carrying a cardboard box, and I see her through the window before she's even reached the door. My whole mood shifts before I can stop it. She comes inside looking for Zip.

"Off compound," I tell her.

"Oh." Something in her expression flickers, not quite disappointment. "It's about the transition house." She lifts the box. "Emily apparently owns forty-seven books despite arriving with one bag."

I take it from her before she can argue, and it's heavier than it looks. "You're not carrying this."

Her eyebrows go up, and I hear it a second too late.

"Sorry," I say. "That came out wrong."

I start to hand the box back, and Cara begins laughing before I’ve even completed the motion.

“I was trying to help,” I say, standing there like an idiot.

“I know,” she manages.

“You can carry it.”

“Thank you for granting me permission.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I would actually like you to carry it,” she says, still laughing.

Cara holds the box out again. I take it, grateful for an excuse to move.

We carry everything out to her car together. Two more boxes are already sitting in the trunk.

“For Emily?” I ask.

“Books, clothes, and a lamp she apparently can’t function without.”

“Is it yellow?”

“Obviously,” Cara replies.