Crow stared down at the list of digital missives on his projectors and glared. "This job has been nothing like I expected," he told Ikora on a live connection.

"Why do you think the other Hunters shied away from the position?" It had taken him a while to realize some of her questions were bemusements. Sometimes, she reminded him of his sister.

"I hadn't noticed." It was true. "They haven't accepted me. I'm not sure what it's going to take."

"You're in charge. You'll never quite be one of them."

Crow's eyes narrowed. "I've got your list. What's going on with Zavala?"

A momentary silence. "It's a list for the future. Zavala asked for it himself."

"Ever since Kepler, the future and the present mean the same thing to you. The Guardian, too."

"I'd be lying if I said this has nothing to do with the Nine. What do you have?"

"Saint-14. He knows what he fights for, and he puts the people of the City above all else."

"Giving him the seat is giving a side table to Osiris."

As far as Crow knew, Osiris was still considered an exile, as much as his presence was welcomed these days. He couldn't tell whether she meant this pejoratively. "Sloane is next."

Tactically brilliant. Grit off the charts. But they went on.

Zavala always said the Guardians are not a military. Crow almost suggested that they do away with the position, but continued down the list instead. They spoke through the night. Contemplating the future.