6. Cara #2
It runs for nearly an hour, much longer than Vulture probably planned, but nobody seems to mind.
The women raise issues I doubt the club had considered before this morning.
They ask what happens if someone wants to leave during an alert, whether a woman can refuse an escort, whether the security phone tracks their location, and whether outside appointments can remain private.
Knox handles the medical question directly. Nobody in the club sees anyone’s records unless the woman chooses to share them.
Falcon glances across the table at him. “Has that always been the rule?”
“Yeah,” Knox confirms.
“Good,” Falcon says, sitting back in his chair.
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.
“What would you suggest?” he asks.
"Women choose when they come and go. If there's an active threat, tell them. Don't lock them in unless they choose lockdown themselves."
He thinks it over. "That raises the risk."
"Yes. I know." I watch him, because I know this goes against his security principles.
He nods slowly, and then, "What if we give them panic devices instead? Something that goes straight to the security channel. Small enough to carry. If somebody wants to go out alone, we don't stop them, but they've got a direct line if anything happens."
I hadn't expected that. "That could work."
Condor would probably build something requiring a retinal scan and satellite access. I make a mental note to supervise whatever they come up with.
Vulture looks between us. "It sounds like you two can sort that out."
"No," Falcon and I say at the same time, and a few people laugh, and he glances at me and smiles, small, but it’s there.
The meeting ends with decisions instead of promises, which means more to this house than anything else that's happened since I arrived.
Patrols move. Identification photos get made.
The security phone stays. Lockdown zones become optional based on preference.
Nobody enters the property for scheduled work without the house being told first, and the transition house gets its own planning group before anything's finalized.
When the men stand to leave, the women don't scatter the way I half expected.
Knox stays because Rachel has a medication question.
Sterling talks to Sarah about her identification.
Vulture ends up cornered by Maya, apparently explaining why emergency chocolate qualifies as medical support, and I hear him say, "I'm not putting that in the budget," and Maya reply, "Then your budget is flawed," and I have to bite my lip to keep from losing it entirely.
Falcon is near the door. For a second I think he's going to come over.
He doesn't. He holds it open for Vulture, waits until the others are ready, and leaves with his brothers. There’s no private conversation, and no attempt to turn something that belonged to the whole room into something about the two of us.
It shouldn’t matter, but it does.
Frankie appears beside me as soon as the door closes. “I saw that.”
I glance at her. “Saw what?”
“Nothing,” she replies, far too innocently.
“Don’t start,” I warn her.
“I didn’t.” Frankie’s smile says otherwise.
"That's worse," I tell her, and she laughs and starts gathering mugs, and I help her, and for the next hour the house slowly quietens down.
People talk about the meeting, some pleased with how it went, and some still not fully trusting it, which is fair.
Trust doesn't show up because Vulture held one decent conversation.
It has to be built, over and over, and that applies to every one of us in this house, including me.