Page 107 of Falcon’s Forever

Vulture:

Hold position. Ice moving east side. Sterling on women's house. No chase.

I stare at those last two words for a second. A week ago, that would've felt like a challenge. Tonight it feels like a plan I already agree with.

"They're moving again," Rook whispers.

One figure gets closer, thirty yards, maybe less. The fence between us is reinforced now, cameras covering the blind angle, brothers positioned around the whole compound, every woman inside with access to the same updates we've got. This isn't the night somebody slips through a weak point, and whoever's out there knows it. So why do they keep coming?

They’re testing discipline. Trying to make us react. I know because it's exactly what I'd have done a week ago.

"Get the women's house updated," Zip says into his own radio before I can say anything, which is exactly how it should work now.

"Already sent," Condor answers.

The shape in the trees edges closer. Rook's hand moves toward his weapon.

"Not unless they breach," Zip says, low, and I feel the old instinct to be the one saying it instead of the one hearing it but I let it pass.

"They're close," he says.

"I know," I reply.

"I could end it now." Zip looks at me.

"No." I keep my voice low. "They want us outside the fence."

Understanding crosses his face. "Right."

We wait, and waiting's always the hardest part. Every instinct says move closer, force the answer out of them, and I stay exactly where I am instead. One of the men reaches the edge of the tree cover. Moonlight catches enough of him to show dark clothing and something in his hand, maybe binoculars, maybe a camera. He lifts it and I step into clearer view, not over the fence, just enough that he sees me.

He stops.

"You're standing on private property," I say, loud enough to carry.

He doesn't answer. The second man moves behind him. Rook tenses beside me, we are on the edge of that moment where things could turn violent.

"You want something, come to the gate in daylight," I say.

Nothing. Then the first man steps back, and the second one, and they both turn and run.

Rook's hand tightens on his weapon. "Go?"

"Or follow them into whatever trap's set up past the camera range." I know what they’re trying to do.

He watches the trees another second and lets the breath out. "Fuck."

"I know."

It feels wrong letting them go, not tactically, but the old part of me that wants a face and a name doesn't get satisfied tonight. We already have Kells, and Merrick, and real leads worth chasing carefully instead of chasing blind through the dark because two men waved at us from the trees.

Condor checks his tablet. "Thermal's moving north. Running. No third body."

I send Vulture another update.

Falcon:

Two retreating north. No pursuit. Hold perimeter.