Page 40 of Falcon’s Forever

Knox narrows his eyes at him. “Did you think I was handing out patient charts during Church?”

“I wouldn’t put anything past you,” Falcon replies.

“Keep talking,” Knox warns, “and your next physical will get invasive.”

A few women laugh, and Falcon raises both hands in surrender, and for a moment it's such a normal exchange between brothers that I almost forget why we're all sitting here. Maybe that's part of healing too. Being around men without every conversation feeling like something you have to survive.

Maya leans closer to Sarah and lowers her voice as if Knox can’t hear her. “I like the doctor.”

“You shouldn’t,” Knox warns from across the table. “I have needles.”

Maya immediately points at Falcon instead. “Fine. I like him.”

Falcon looks genuinely alarmed. “Why am I involved now?”

“You’re less threatening than medical equipment,” Maya explains.

Vulture closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I regret agreeing to this meeting.”

“You said nobody outranks anyone here,” Maya reminds him.

Vulture opens his eyes and stares at her. “That was my first mistake.”

The room laughs, even Rachel, and I catch Falcon watching them, not me, them, with something in his face I can't quite name. Pride, maybe.

When Vulture asks if there's anything else, I bring up the transition house. We haven't bought it yet, but if the club does, I want the women involved before anyone decides how it runs, and he agrees without an argument, which is almost suspicious enough to comment on.

I look across the table at Vulture. “You’re getting suspiciously reasonable.”

Falcon coughs into his fist, but it sounds a lot like he’s covering a laugh.

Vulture turns his attention to him. “Is something funny?”

“No, Prez,” Falcon replies, keeping his expression carefully blank.

“It sounded funny,” Vulture points out.

“Allergies,” Falcon claims.

“In winter,” Knox mutters, shaking his head.

I have to look away before either of them sees me laugh.

We talk through what stays and what goes if the house happens. Security remains available if the women want it, along with medical support, counseling, and transport at first. Patrols stay visible unless there’s a reason to conceal them.

Then someone raises the subject of curfews, and Falcon’s expression changes immediately.

“We don’t have curfews here,” he says firmly.

“You have gates,” I remind him.

“That’s security,” Falcon argues.

“To you,” I reply.

Falcon falls quiet, and the rest of the room follows. Everyone is waiting to see what he does with the challenge.

He doesn’t become defensive, and he doesn’t tell me I’m wrong. Instead, he takes a breath and meets my gaze.