Simon returned to the estate with a mind that refused to settle, the weight of everything he had uncovered pressing against his thoughts like a slow, tightening vice, and without wasting another second, he stepped into his office, shut the door behind him, and stood there in silence for a brief moment as though calculating the exact words he needed before reaching into his pocket, pulling out his phone, and dialing Falcon's number.
The line connected.
"Falcon," Simon began, his tone measured but carrying an edge that betrayed his urgency, "apparently I just found out that King had hired someone… a woman… to entertain his men, and according to what I've gathered, she arrived at the warehouse the exact same day you went in to infiltrate it."
There was a pause on the other end, then Falcon's voice came—low, indifferent, almost dismissive.
"So?"
