"Hargrove isn't just some criminal, Falcon. He's powerful. Connected. If you move against him without absolute proof, he'll destroy the club. Destroy you."
The concern in her voice is genuine, touching something I've kept walled off since her return. "I know the risks. But what he's done—what he's still doing to other women—it has to stop."
She studies me, something shifting in her expression. "You're different."
"We both are," I acknowledge.
"No, I mean..." She gestures to the evidence board. "Before, you would have gone in guns blazing. Vengeance first, consequences later."
I consider this assessment, recognizing its truth. "Maybe I've learned that some enemies require strategy, not just force."
"Or maybe you've learned what it means to lose something irreplaceable," she suggests quietly.
The observation hits with precision, finding its mark in the center of my chest. We stand in silence for a moment, the weight of five lost years between us.
"I'm sorry," I say finally. "For what I said yesterday. Questioning your loyalty, suggesting you might be feeding information to the traffickers."
"You were doing your job," she replies, though her eyes tell me the accusation stung deeper than she'll admit. "Protecting the club."
"Still. I was wrong." I step closer, meeting her gaze directly. "You survived hell, Cara. Fought harder than I can imagine. I should have acknowledged that strength instead of questioning it."
Something softens in her expression. "Thank you."
Another beat of silence, less strained than before. She gestures to the sandwich. "You should eat. Take your meds."
I obey, hunger suddenly making itself known now that the adrenaline of discovery has faded. As I eat, she examines the evidence board more carefully.
"The Kings of Purgatory," she reads. "That's the three-pointed crown I saw on the man's arm?"
I nod, swallowing a bite. "Rival club that supposedly disbanded five years ago after their president disappeared. Now it seems they went underground, formed an alliance with the Reapers and Hargrove."
"And they targeted me because of some debt they claimed you owed," she adds, fitting another piece into the puzzle. "A debt connected to their disappearance five years ago?"
The timing connects in my mind, a revelation I should have seen sooner. "Holy shit."
"What?"
I set the sandwich down, moving to the board. "Five years ago, right before you disappeared, we had a territorial dispute with the Kings. Their president, Marcus Kane, was pushing product in our area—heroin laced with something that killed five kids in one weekend."
I trace the timeline on the board. "We shut down their operation, destroyed their product. Kane disappeared a week later. We thought he ran, or that his own club eliminated him for bringing heat on their business."
"And a week after that, I was taken," Cara says slowly. "As payment for a debt you supposedly owed."
"Revenge," I conclude, the pieces falling into place. "Not a debt—revenge for what we did to their business. They took you to hurt me, hid it behind a transaction to make it seem like business."
She absorbs this, processing the implications. "So all of this—the trafficking, the Reapers alliance, Hargrove's involvement— grew from that initial conflict?"
"Maybe not entirely, but it's connected." I add notes to the board, connecting events. "The Kings must have had existing ties to trafficking. When they went underground, they expanded that business with Hargrove's financial backing and the Reapers' muscle."
Cara watches me work, her analytical mind—the one that once made her a promising law student—engaging with the problem. "You need to find the connection between Hargrove and Kane. That's the missing piece."
"That's exactly what we need," I agree, adding it to the board. "Ice Pick is still working on the ledger. Maybe there's something there."
She nods, then moves toward the door. "I should let you finish eating. Doc will have my head if you miss those antibiotics."
"Cara," I say, stopping her before she leaves. "Thank you. For helping with this. For..." I struggle to articulate what I mean. For surviving. For coming back. For not hating me despite every reason to.
She seems to understand what I can't say. "We both want the same thing, Falcon. To make sure what happened to me doesn't happen to anyone else."
