Page 78 of Falcon’s Forever

Vulture doesn't look at him. "Your VP patch."

I unfasten the cut slowly, the leather is heavier in my hands than it's ever felt, and put it on the table. VP patch facing up. Nobody moves to push it back.

"This isn't a lesson," Vulture says, quiet enough that it lands harder than shouting would. "A brother's dead. You don't get handed responsibility back in the same hour you lose the right to carry it. You want it again, you earn it from the bottom, same as every man in this room did the first time."

My chest goes hollow in a way I don't have a word for. "Understood."

"Zip." Vulture doesn't look away from me while he says it. "You're acting VP until further notice."

Zip doesn't look pleased about it, he doesn't look like he's earned a prize. I remember he told me that he didn’t want my job. But he just nods once, the way a man accepts a weight nobody wanted to hand him.

"Falcon rides with the patched brothers," Vulture continues. "No perimeter authority, no tactical call, no seat at this table unless I say otherwise. You take orders same as any full patch who isn't holding rank. You'll run whatever Ice Pick and Zip need running, and you'll do it without a title attached to make it feel like less than it is."

"Understood," I say again, because it's the only word left in me.

"Rook, Harrier, you've got him on rotation starting tomorrow. Collections, supply, perimeter walks, whatever's ugly and unglamorous and doesn't need a VP's name on it. That's the job now."

Harrier nods, there’s no joke in him tonight either.

"And Falcon." Vulture's voice doesn't soften, exactly, but something underneath it does. "Carrot's mother gets a visit from this club, from you specifically, when she's ready for one. Not because it fixes anything. Because that's what we owe her, and pretending otherwise is its own kind of running."

I nod. It's the hardest thing anyone's said to me all night.

Nobody claps me on the shoulder afterward. Nobody tells me it'll be all right. Zip picks up the patch off the table, folds it once, and hands it to Vulture without a word, and Vulture puts it in the top drawer of his own desk instead of a pocket, like it's something that needs keeping safe until it's earned rather than something that's simply his to hold.

Church keeps moving because the club doesn't get to stop for grief in the middle of an active threat, however much every man at that table wants to. We spend another hour on security, no assumptions this time, every camera overlap, every patrol gap, every medical appointment, every supply route. The women's house gets a dedicated interior corridor away from exterior walls. Knox wants medical kits in two locations. Condor proposes three pieces of tech nobody understands until Zip tells him to use words spoken by humans, and even that gets said quieter than usual, like laughing too loud tonight would be its own kind of disrespect.

Church finally ends when Knox calls with the hospital update, and everyone stays seated while Vulture puts him on speaker.

"Emily's stable," Knox says. "The bullet went through soft tissue, missed the liver and kidney. She lost a lot of blood but surgery went well."

Harrier exhales and leans back in his chair. Beside him, Digger whispers something that sounds like a prayer.

“Is Emily awake?” I ask Knox.

“Not yet,” he answers.

“What about Cara?” The question escapes before I can stop it.

Nobody comments. Zip deliberately avoids looking at me, which is its own kind of mercy.

Knox pauses for half a beat. “She’s here.”

That tells me almost nothing. Maybe it has to be enough.

“How is she?” I ask.

Knox’s expression tightens. “Falcon, she isn’t my patient.”

Right. Boundaries. I don't have the rank to ask that question the way I used to, and I don't have the right to expect an answer just because I want one.

"She's with Frankie and Sarah. Ice Pick is outside the waiting area."

"Good," I say.

"Merrick got out before police closed the rear route," Knox adds. "He's gone."

Something in my chest tightens all over again, and I don't say anything, because I've used up whatever right I had tonight to have opinions about how this club runs its business.