[Point of view: Edith Nivea]

  The steam from the tea rises in delicate spirals above the table, mirroring the tangled thoughts in my head. We both keep our eyes fixed on our cups, the silence between us heavy and loaded with words neither of us knows how to say.

  “So, Yami Kage…” I begin, then trail off, realizing how ridiculous that sounds. “That’s… quite the name.”

  My tone is friendly enough, but the tigress across from me widens her eyes behind her thick glasses and politely raises a hand.

  “Please, call me HǔPò or Carlie,” she says softly. “HǔPò is my birth name. Carlie is my American name.”

  “Alright,” I reply, exhaling a breath I didn't know I was holding. I’m relieved I don’t have to keep calling her something that sounds like a villain from a Saturday morning cartoon. “Let’s start over. Tell me your story, properly this time.”

  Carlie takes a shaky breath, her hands gripping the porcelain cup like a lifeline.

  “My mother kicked me out. She said I brought dishonor to our family.” Her voice is low, but the words carry the weight of a mountain. Her orange eyes, once so sharp in the ring, are now dull with a deep, aching pain. “She said the only way to regain my honor and return home is…”

  She hesitates, swallowing hard. “Is to get pregnant by Marcus.”

  The revelation hits me like a punch to the solar plexus.

  “So… you aren't actually his wife?” I ask, my voice sounding dry as bone as I recall her earlier claims.

  Carlie meets my gaze, her face flushing a deep crimson. There’s a heartbreaking mix of determination and shame in her eyes. “I beg your pardon, Miss Nivia. I know it seems strange to a Western Anthro, but where I come from, securing a strong, healthy partner is vital to the future of a dynasty.”

  She takes a small sip of tea before continuing. “Marcus challenged my mother in exchange for services. She suspected immediately that he wasn't a normal male. That’s why she put my hand in marriage up as a prize.” Her voice trembles. “Even if she lost the fight, she won a powerful son-in-law to strengthen her bloodline.”

  Suddenly, the sound of a chair screeching against the floor echoes through the room. I watch, frozen, as Carlie drops to the floor and presses her forehead against the wood in a deep, formal bow.

  “Please, Miss Nivia!” she cries out. “I beg you! Allow me to carry a cub or two for Marcus!”

  I’m left breathless. A lump forms in my throat, a suffocating cocktail of compassion and a sharp, stinging jealousy.

  “Carlie, please, get up,” I say, my voice firmer than I expected. “You don’t need to do this.”

  She looks up, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I can’t go home without completing my mission. And as the wife of the Dragon Warrior, I need your permission to mate with him.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but the words catch. What do I even say? I realize I need to clear up her biggest misunderstanding first. I get up from my chair and walk around the table, kneeling on the floor beside her.

  “Carlie, you’ve got it all wrong,” I say softly. “Marcus and I aren't married. In fact, we aren't even dating.”

  Confusion washes over her face. “But… he lives here. And I can smell him on you. You two were… intimate, very recently, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, we were,” I admit, feeling my own cheeks heat up as I settle onto the floor. “But that doesn't mean we’re a couple. Not officially.”

  She blinks, her ears twitching in total bewilderment. “I don’t understand. Then what are you?”

  I sigh, trying to find a label for something that doesn't have one yet. “It’s complicated,” I reply, dodging the details.

  “Then why do you smell like you spent a very long night of-.”

  “WHAT’S THAT?!” I shout, pointing frantically at the television to kill that line of questioning. “Looks like there was a bank robbery!”

  I crank the volume. The voice of a gazelle journalist fills the living room. Carlie, still on the floor, shifts her attention to the screen.

  {...rescued unharmed thanks to the heroic actions of Captain Shanika Jackson,} the journalist reports. {Despite disobeying direct orders to wait for a negotiator, Captain Shanika led a bold operation that resulted in the capture of the robbers and the safe release of all twenty hostages.}

  The screen flashes images of an imposing Orca Anthro, Captain Shanika, exiting the bank. Her SWAT gear is covered in dust, but her expression is one of pure, unyielding grit.

  {The Mayor, however, is not pleased,} the reporter continues. {Sources say she is considering removing the Captain from the ‘State Assignment’ marriage system as punishment.}

  The footage cuts to the hostages being treated by paramedics. It’s a chaotic scene, but then Carlie lets out a sharp, surprised gasp.

  “Hey! Look!” she exclaims, her voice trembling with excitement. “It’s Marcus!”

  I follow her finger. There he is. Marcus is sitting cross-legged on the back of an ambulance, holding a large cup of coffee. His face is twisted into an expression of pure, unadulterated disgust, as if he’s drinking battery acid. He takes a sip and winces so hard it almost makes me laugh.

  “What on earth is he doing there?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” Carlie replies, her eyes glued to the screen. “But at least he’s okay.”

  [Point of view: Marcus Carvalho]

  The Captain finishes her line of questioning, her dark eyes scanning her notes with a practiced, predatory efficiency. The only sound in the small, cramped room is the rhythmic scratch of her pencil against the pad.

  “Your information matches the other hostages,” she says, finally satisfied.

  She lifts her gaze, her eyes locking onto mine. There’s a sharp gleam of curiosity buried beneath her professional exterior.

  “You’re lucky, Marcus. It could have been much worse.” She snaps the notepad shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the tiny room. “But before I let you go, I have one more question.”

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  She stands up, the metal chair groaning in protest against the concrete floor. At her full height, her presence is massive, looming over the table. she leans forward, bracing herself on the metal surface, her eyes piercing mine.

  “Marcus, you’re twenty-three years old,” she says, her tone dropping into something almost threatening. “Why don’t you have an Anthro as your State Assignment?”

  The question hits me like a bucket of ice water. Edith’s voice flashes through my mind, Turning eighteen... reporting to the state... forced marriage. A chill crawls down my spine.

  Shit, I think. It’s been a while since I had to lie to a cop. Let’s see if the old magic still works.

  I force a relaxed smile, leaning back as if we’re just chatting over drinks. “Captain, I’m sure you’re aware there are special legal conditions that allow a person to avoid Assignment.”

  The words are out before I can overthink them. The Captain tilts her head, her dark eyes boring into mine. The silence is deafening for a long beat. Then, she gives a barely perceptible nod.

  “You’re right, Marcus. Since you aren't flagged as a fugitive in our system, I have to assume everything is above board.” Her voice remains firm, but there’s a sudden, unexpected softness to it.

  I feel a mental weight lift, but I don't let it show. Adrenaline is still humming in my veins, so I decide to push my luck while the iron is hot.

  “So, since I’m a victim and not a suspect, I don’t really need to spill my life story to you, right? That would be a bit of a violation of my privacy, wouldn’t it?”

  She raises an eyebrow, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing her face. Then, she huffs a frustrated growl. “Once again, you’re right, Marcus. But you could cooperate and answer my questions anyway.”

  “If I wanted to,” I add with a wink.

  Internally, I’m throwing a party. The tension in the room drains away as she straightens up, her gaze still intense but the "hunter" edge gone.

  “Marcus, do you even have a clue why I’m asking you about your Assignment status?”

  I shrug, playing the part of the oblivious, handsome human. “No idea, Captain.”

  She sighs, the frustration evident. She points toward the door with an abrupt, jerky motion. “You’re free to go, Marcus. Get out of here.”

  I slip out of the room, the heavy door clicking shut behind me. The relief is instant. I walk down the flickering fluorescent hallway, the cold white walls feeling a little less like a prison. I stop for a second, murmuring to myself: “Why the hell was she so interested in my marriage status?”

  [Point of View: Masha Medvetskaya]

  My footsteps echo through the precinct hallway, the sound a grim reminder of the life I left behind a long time ago.

  “Inspector Medvetskaya, what a surprise,” the raspy voice of a lemming secretary chirps. “The Captain will see you now.”

  “Thank you,” I respond, my tone clipped and professional.

  I walk past open doors, taking in the familiar, depressing scenery: officers buried under paperwork, the smell of stale coffee and sweat, the endless ringing of phones. This was my world before I became an Anthrostate Inspector.

  I stop at the door marked Captain Shanika Jackson and walk in without knocking. The Orca is seated at her desk, surrounded by stacks of documents. She looks up, her eyes narrowing.

  “Captain Shanika Jackson, I presume. I’m Inspector Masha Medvetskaya.”

  The Captain stands and offers a respectful salute. I may not be in her chain of command, but an Inspector outranks a police officer in every way that matters.

  “At ease, Captain,” I say, taking a seat before she can invite me.

  “So… Inspector Medvetskaya,” she says, testing the name like it’s something bitter. “How can I help you?”

  “I need info on the bank robbery. It’s been making some noise,” I say.

  Shanika nods. “The capybara heist. It was a mess, but we handled it. No civilian injuries.”

  “I heard. Congratulations, Captain,” I say, my voice cutting through the air like a blade. “I respect those who buck the hierarchy to save lives.”

  She scowls at the reminder of her insubordination but nods.

  “I’m not here for small talk,” I continue. “Let’s get to it.”

  Her eyes narrow, her fists clenching on the desk. “What is an Inspector doing here? Shouldn’t you be chasing down Anthros who starve their husbands?”

  I puff out my chest, letting my massive ursine frame fill the space. My voice drops into a growl. “Captain, I’m being courteous by coming here instead of summoning you to my office. Keep this civil. Know your place and don’t ask questions you don’t need the answers to.”

  She straightens her posture, undaunted but recognizing the boundary. “Understood, Inspector.”

  “Tell me about the hostages,” I command.

  Jackson pulls a thick folder and slides it across. “Identity and transcripts of everyone questioned. It’s all in there.”

  I pick it up with a heavy paw, flipping through the pages. It’s a mountain of data. It’ll take me days to find anything in this mess, I think, frustrated. I set it aside and look her in the eye.

  “You did an impressive job. But I don’t have time for a novel. Did any of the hostages stand out to you? Anything… unusual?”

  Captain Shanika Jackson gives me a wide, triumphant, and utterly cruel smile.

  “Inspector, I personally interrogated every single one. Nothing stood out. They all behaved exactly as expected in a high-stress situation.”

  Her voice is dripping with a fake tenderness that makes my fur itch. “I can’t say I noticed anything out of the ordinary,” she concludes.

  Her eyes are gleaming with satisfaction. Her smile is faker than a hyena’s vow of chastity.

  She’s hiding something, I realize.

  Knowing I won’t get another word out of this Orca, I slam the folder shut. “You’re lucky my time is more valuable than that of a frustrated, single Orca,” I snap.

  She keeps her composure, though her eyes flash. “If you need anything else, Inspector, you know where to find me.”

  I storm out, slamming her office door behind me. The hallway feels even more suffocating now. I ignore the curious lemming at the desk and burst through the station doors into the fresh street air.

  I pull a cigarette from my brown overcoat, the lighter clicking with a satisfying spark. I take a deep drag, letting the smoke relax my muscles.

  “A needle in a haystack,” I mutter into the smog. “That’s what I’m looking for. Something concrete to keep that monster at headquarters happy.”

  [Point of view: Marcus Carvalho]

  The orange haze of teleportation, that distinct, shimmering hue I’ve grown used to, begins to bleed away. The world snaps back into sharp focus, and I find myself standing right in the middle of Edith’s living room.

  “Home sweet home,” I whisper, a wave of genuine relief washing over me.

  A grin tugs at my lips. Despite the absurdity of the bank heist and the aggressive capybaras, I’ve got cash in my pocket. No more tracking, no more oversight.

  “Finally, I can buy what I actually need,” I mutter, my mind already racing through the gear and supplies I’ve been eyeing.

  The excitement is so thick I’ve almost completely forgotten why I bolted to the bank in such a panic in the first place... at least, until a very familiar, very sharp sound cuts through the air.

  “Ahem!”

  “ó porra!” I blurt out, the Portuguese curse flying out before I can catch it.

  I whip my head to the left, and there they are. Edith and Yami Kage are sitting at the small dining table with a steaming kettle between them. Edith is practically vibrating with irritation, her eyes narrowed into lasers. Yami Kage, however, looks like she’s just seen a ghost, her jaw is on the floor, her eyes wide with total shock.

  “Would you believe me if I said I just stepped out for a pack of cigarettes?” I offer, giving them my most charmingly sheepish grin.

  “So you weren’t held hostage in a bank robbery?” Edith asks, her voice trembling on the edge of a scream. “You vanish without a word, and then you just... you just show up out of thin air using your magic?”

  The tigress, still frozen in place, whispers: “Was that... m-magic?”

  Edith completely ignores her, her focus locked onto me like a heat-seeking missile.

  “I was worried!” she explodes, standing up so fast her chair almost tips. “I thought you’d abandoned me! You can’t just disappear like that, Marcus!”

  I open my mouth to explain, but Yami Kage suddenly scrambles to her feet, her chair screeching harshly against the wood.

  “That was magic!” she repeats, her voice a mix of religious awe and raw fear. “How? How is that possible?”

  Edith huffs, clearly having zero patience for the tigress’s fan-girling right now.

  “You know what...” Edith growls, her patience finally snapping. “I don’t have the time or the energy for this.”

  She grabs her backpack, her face flushed a deep, angry pink.

  “Where are you going?” I ask, genuinely surprised by the sudden exit.

  “To work, Marcus,” she snaps, her voice like a whip. “See how easy that was? To actually tell someone where you’re going?”

  Before I can get another word in, she storms toward the entrance and slams the front door so hard the windows rattle in their frames. The silence that follows is thick and heavy.

  The tigress stands there for a moment, unable to meet my eyes, her tail twitching nervously behind her. “Do you... do you remember me?” she asks softly.

  I turn to the right, fully acknowledging the orange-furred elephant in the room.

  “Yeah,” I reply, which earns me a small, hopeful smile. “You’re the fighter with the weeb name.”

  The smile vanishes instantly. She stomps her foot on the floor with an indignant thud. “It is not a weeb name!”