The observation is accurate. Despite our evolving relationship and his growing respect for my capabilities, Falcon's protective instincts remain strong—especially regarding anything that might cause me additional trauma.
"I'll make him understand," I say with more confidence than I feel. "This isn't about reopening wounds. It's about finally understanding them."
I find Falcon in the armory, methodically cleaning weapons for tomorrow's operation. His movements are precise, practiced—a meditation of sorts that I recognize from our life before. Some things don't change, even when everything else has.
He senses my presence before I speak, looking up with a question in his eyes. "Everything okay?"
"We need to talk," I say, closing the door behind me. "About the Reaper you're holding."
His expression shifts subtly, wariness replacing openness. "What about him?"
"I want to question him. Alone."
The weapon in his hands goes still. "No."
The flat refusal ignites a spark of frustration. "That's not your decision to make."
"It's a security issue," he counters, setting the gun aside. "He's dangerous, unstable. And you don't need to subject yourself to that."
"Don't tell me what I need," I reply, keeping my voice steady despite the heat rising in my chest. "I've survived things you can't imagine. I can handle one restrained man in a controlled environment."
Falcon stands, moving around the table to face me directly. "This isn't about your capability, Cara. It's about unnecessary risk."
"It's necessary to me," I insist. "Every day more pieces connect—Kane, the Kings, the 'debt collection.' I remember things they said about me being specifically selected. I need to know if my abduction was targeted."
His jaw tightens, the muscle working beneath his skin. "And if it was? What does that change?"
"Everything," I say quietly. "If I was randomly trafficked, that's one kind of trauma to process. If I was deliberately taken to hurt you, to pay some perceived debt—that's different. I need to understand what happened to me in order to move forward."
Something shifts in his expression—recognition, perhaps, of the logic behind my request. Still, he hesitates. "There are other ways to get information. I can question him for you."
"It's not the same," I counter. "He won't respond to you the same way he might to me. To him, I'm merchandise that got away. That provokes a different reaction than facing an enemy MC enforcer."
The tactical argument lands where the emotional one might not have. Falcon is, above all, a strategist. He understands using psychological leverage.
"You're asking me to let you face a man connected to the people who held you captive for five years," he says finally. "You understand why that's difficult for me to agree to."
"I do," I acknowledge, softening slightly. "But this isn't about what's easy. It's about what's necessary—for me, and for our operation tomorrow. I need to do this, Falcon. Please."
He studies me for a long moment, conflict evident in his eyes. Finally, he sighs. "Conditions. Non-negotiable. I monitor from outside. Zip stays in the room as security. First sign of distress, you're out. Deal?"
Relief washes through me. "Deal."
The basement room they've converted for interrogation is sparse—concrete walls, metal table bolted to the floor, two chairs. A one-way mirror along one wall allows for observation from the adjoining room. It's clinical, tactical, designed to disorient prisoners with its blank uniformity.
I stand before the mirror, studying my reflection. I've chosen my clothing with deliberate care—jeans that fit properly, a simple black t-shirt, boots that make me stand taller. My hair is pulled back, exposing my face fully. Nothing to hide behind.
"His name is Derek Mercer," Zip explains, checking his sidearm before holstering it under his cut. "Mid-level Reaper, handles security for their trafficking operations. Been with them eight years."
"Attitude?" I ask, continuing my mental preparation.
"Arrogant. Thinks he's smarter than he is. Started tough, but Ice Pick's methods loosened his tongue considerably." Zip's expression remains neutral, but I can fill in the blanks about what "methods" likely entailed.
"Approach?" This is the key question—how to position myself for maximum effect.
Zip considers this. "He responds to perceived weakness, tries to exploit it. Also reacts to being intellectually challenged. His ego is his vulnerability."
I nod, absorbing this information. "I'll start soft, then shift. Play to his superiority complex until he reveals something useful."
