Page 103 of Falcon’s Forever

Falcon’s shoulders loosen slightly. “Good.”

“Very,” I confirm.

“I heard she wants to see the transition house.”

“Tomorrow, hopefully,” I tell him.

“Zip’s handling it.”

“I know.”

We're quiet again, and it's not uncomfortable exactly, maybe a little.

“How are you?” he asks.

There are a hundred ways I could answer. I choose the true one.

“Tired.”

Falcon nods. “Me too.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Four hours,” he admits.

“That’s not enough.”

“I know.”

I give him a look.

“I’m improving,” he says, catching it.

There's something different about him standing there, and it takes me a second to place it. Calm. He's not scanning the compound, not shifting his weight toward the next thing. Just here.

“You repaired the fence?” I ask.

“Rook, Digger, and me,” Falcon says.

I raise my eyebrows. “You let a man with a concussion repair security fencing?”

“He mostly complained.”

“That sounds safer.”

Falcon’s mouth twitches. “Knox-approved complaining.”

I laugh, and he smiles. The sounds of the compound fade slightly around us, though neither of us moves closer.

“Thank you for the food yesterday,” I say.

“Harrier made it.”

“You arranged it,” I remind him.

Falcon looks down at his hands. “I only asked what you needed.”

“Yes.”