Page 34 of Falcon’s Forever

“That’s what we’re figuring out,” he tells me. “Condor is checking the metadata. Sterling is tracing everyone outside the club who had access to the schedule.”

“Do you think it’s internal?” I ask.

“Don’t jump there yet,” Vulture warns.

“I wasn’t,” I lie.

“You were,” he says.

Fair enough.

I tap the paper. “What about the SUV?”

“Rook thinks it’s the same one from the south road,” Vulture replies.

“They’re testing us because they think we’re weak,” I say.

Vulture doesn’t answer because he doesn’t need to.

We dismantled the trafficking network. The feds are watching and the survivors are living on our property. Our attention is divided, and our VP can’t keep his head out of his ass.

Weakness doesn’t have to be real. It only has to be believed.

“I’ll fix it,” I promise.

“How?” Vulture asks.

I sit forward and start listing the changes. “We alter the perimeter rotation and the supply routes. Nobody moves alone until we know who those men were. We take the warehouse off its routine, randomise the resupply times, and use two locations. Condor checks the cameras all the way back to the main road.”

“Good.” Vulture studies me for a moment. “What about you?”

“I’ll take the south line,” I tell him. “All night, if that’s what it takes.”

“What about Digger?” he asks.

“I’ll wake him every two hours,” I reply. “The south line isn’t far from the garage.”

Vulture nods slowly. “Do both.”

I get to my feet, but his voice stops me at the door.

“This isn’t punishment,” Vulture says. “You’re on the south line because we need our VP there, not because you fucked up today.”

“I know,” I tell him.

His expression hardens. “Do better than knowing.”

By evening, the entire compound has shifted the way it does before trouble. Everything is quieter, not louder. Bikes are moved, fuel is checked, and prospects are handed jobs without arguing about them for once.

Vulture calls Church again at eight thirty. The meeting is shorter this time and much tighter. Condor puts the burner messages on the screen at the front of the room.

“There’s no confirmed source for the schedule leak,” Condor reports. “But somebody knew within fourteen minutes of Sterling sending the update.”

Ice Pick looks away from the screen. “Who had access?”

“All patched members, the three prospects assigned to the run, the warehouse manager, and Sterling’s contact at the delivery company,” Condor replies.

Harrier leans forward in his chair. “Are we saying we have a leak?”