The station hummed with its usual rhythm—phones ringing, boots scuffing against the tile, the occasional burst of laughter from officers sharing stories between reports. None of it cut through the thick haze of monotony Rex found himself drowning in.

  He sat at his desk, hunched over a mess of paperwork that only seemed to grow the longer he stared at it. His desk was a disaster, with case files stacked precariously, hastily scrawled notes littering every inch of space, and in the center of it all, the unfinished Crimson Ward report.

  The Wolf’s Bypass Massacre plastered on every screen in the bullpen, the headlines looping in bold, attention-grabbing type. High-speed chase leads to destruction. Suspect at large. More fallout expected. His name wasn’t in the headlines—yet—but it was only a matter of time.

  Yet, there he was, stuck behind a desk, drowning in pen strokes and red tape, when he should have been out doing something constructive.

  He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his nose, when the familiar scent of coffee cut through his frustration.

  “If I were you, I’d start pacing. Looks better for morale than slamming your head against the desk,” Tamsin’s voice teased as she approached.

  Rex glanced up to see her with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a smug grin pulling at her muzzle. She placed the coffee on his desk with an exaggerated flourish, like she was delivering a gift of the highest order, then leaned casually against the desk’s edge, crossing her arms.

  "Thought you could use a pick-me-up," she said breezily. "Y'know, since you're taped to your desk.”

  Rex arched a brow. "Appreciate the reminder." He grabbed the coffee, lifting it in half-hearted gratitude. "Captain's orders. Got to make myself useful before I'm let loose to destroy the city again."

  Tamsin smirked. “Well, it’s nice to see you embracing your role as Public Enemy Number One."

  Rex let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "Yeah, I’m sure the PR team’s loving every second of this."

  Tamsin tapped her cheek thoughtfully, "I heard one of them quit this morning.”

  He shot her a look, but she was already sipping from her own cup, eyes twinkling with amusement.

  She tilted her head, pretending to size him up. "Shame, though. With all the news coverage, your stock’s never been higher." She tapped a claw against her chin. "Who wouldn’t be tempted to take their chances with a big, bad, wolf?"

  Rex lifted his left hand and pointed at his wedding ring with a flat expression.

  Tamsin grinned, completely unfazed. "Hey, I‘m just speculating. No need to crush my dreams so fast."

  Rex shook his head, muttering into his coffee. "I’m already called for, what do you expect me to do for you?"

  Tamsin smirked. “Enjoy my company and appreciate the fact that I’m your only source of entertainment today."

  Rex sighed. Tamsin had a way of getting under his skin without actually annoying him. She never pressed too hard, never overstepped—just enough sarcasm to break through the haze of his frustration.

  He took a long sip of coffee before tilting his head toward her. "So, how’s the day treating you? Or is everyone too busy giving you grief for working with 'the guy who destroyed the bypass'?"

  “Eh, not grief,” she said with a half-shrug. “More like thinly veiled admiration. You’ve somehow managed to be both an inspiration and a cautionary tale.”

  Rex snorted. “That right?”

  Tamsin nodded. “"Half the station thinks you're the next rogue cop, the other half’s got money on Greer benching you for good. Meanwhile, I’ve spent the morning filing patrol reports, suffering through briefings, and trying not to pass out at my desk.”

  She nudged his arm. “Next time you go rogue, take me with you. Could use the excitement.”

  Rex chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ll be sure to bring you along for my next suspension.”

  "That’s all I ask," she said with a mock bow, flashing him a smirk.

  Her teasing chipped away at the frustration sitting heavy in his chest, but only for a moment. That weight never truly lifted.

  Tamsin let the silence stretch just long enough before tilting her head, studying him. Her usual smirk faded into something softer, more measured.

  "Alright, Calder. Out with it."

  Rex frowned, taking another sip of coffee. “Out with what?”

  She leaned against his desk, arms crossed, her gaze unwavering. "You’re wound tighter than usual, and that’s saying something."

  Rex exhaled sharply through his nose, tapping a claw against his cup. “Just tired.”

  She tilted her head, her ears flicking slightly as she pressed forward without pushing too hard.

  "Tired?" she echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Tired’s one thing. I’ve seen tired. This? You’ve been staring at that report like it personally insulted you. That’s not ‘tired,’ that’s ‘Calder special edition self-loathing.’”

  Rex let out a dry huff. “Should’ve gone into psychology, Voss.”

  Tamsin grinned. "Funny you say that. I did, for a while."

  Rex glanced up, mildly surprised. "That right?"

  Tamsin stretched her arms above her head, exhaling through her nose. “Three semesters. I am functionally dangerous as a shrink of the armchair variety.”

  Rex gave her a sidelong glance. “Yeah, yeah. AMU. Bright future. Respectable career.” He took a sip of coffee. “And then you met us.”

  Tamsin smirked, tapping her fingers against his desk. “Steel and Stone. Walking disaster and immovable object, solving crime through sheer stubbornness.”

  Rex huffed.

  She shrugged, the playful edge of her smirk softening into something more thoughtful. "I remember watching you two work that case with Professor Caius. The smuggling ring, right? Felt like the whole thing was over my head at the time. But I watched you and Duke walk around that campus like you’d seen it all before. You weren’t just taking statements, you were reading animals. Breaking them down. And when things went sideways, you handled it. No hesitation."

  Rex snorted. “If I recall, ‘things going sideways’ involved a lab fire, a half-crushed getaway car, and me getting chewed out for excessive force.”

  Tamsin’s grin widened. “Exactly. It was the coolest thing I’d ever seen.”

  Rex shook his head. "So that’s all it took, huh? One police chase and you threw out a whole degree?"

  Tamsin rolled her eyes. "Not quite. After that disruption on the campus, I figured out I didn’t just want to study animals’ behavior. I wanted to do something about it. Talking only goes so far when the real monsters are out there in the streets."

  She leaned against his desk, eyes glinting. "Besides, I saw something then. You and Duke weren’t just clocking hours and cashing paychecks. You actually gave a damn. You were actually trying to help animals. I figured, if I was going to throw myself into something, it might as well be that."

  Rex studied her for a moment, then shook his head with a smirk. “What you’re telling me is, I ruined your promising academic career.”

  Tamsin flicked his arm. “No, you sent that idea to the soil and my life is now a lot more interesting.”

  Rex huffed a quiet laugh before the smirk faded. “Animals died cause of me yesterday.”

  Her expression didn’t change, but she shifted just slightly, planting herself more firmly against the desk as if bracing for what came next.

  "Yeah," she said quietly.

  Rex’s grip tightened around the cup. “I tried to contain it. I tried to stop him before it got that far.” His voice was low, strained. "Didn’t matter. Animals still got hurt."

  Tamsin exhaled slowly, nodding. “You thinking you could’ve done more?”

  Rex leaned back in his seat contemplatively, “I could have done more. Several moments I could have taken shots.”

  Tamsin let the words settle before she spoke.

  "You know how many bad calls I’ve made?" she asked, her voice measured. "How many times I’ve walked away from a scene wondering if I did enough?"

  Rex scoffed. "I don’t recall the stakes being this high."

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  "Aren’t they though?" she countered. "You think you’re the only cop who’s had to look at a body and ask themselves if they could’ve done something different?"

  Rex’s jaw tensed, but he said nothing.

  Tamsin leaned in close and pointed at him with an accusing finger, "You may not want to hear this, but sometimes it doesn’t matter how fast we are, how smart we play it, or how hard we try. Animals still get hurt. You know who taught me that? You."

  Rex’s ears flicked slightly. Tamsin saw the way his shoulders held the weight of it, the way his tail barely moved, tension coiled into every inch of him.

  She sighed. "I know my circumstances are much smaller in scale. You really think this one’s all on you, don’t you?"

  He didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

  "Thought so," she muttered, shaking her head.

  Tamsin straightened up, stretching her arms over her head before fixing him with a look somewhere between understanding and frustration.

  "Calder, you take all the blame onto yourself. It is not right, I see it every day you come to work. If it isn’t Kat, it is something else."

  Rex clenched his jaw, staring at his desk as if the answers might be buried somewhere under the paperwork.

  "And don’t give me that ‘I’m good’ crap," she added, pointing at him. "You can barely handle filling out that report without looking like you want to punch something."

  That earned her a tired smirk, but the heaviness in his eyes didn’t fully fade.

  "Look, I’m not saying you shouldn’t give a damn. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t," she said. "But if you carry all of this on your own? It’s gonna break you. And if I am being honest with you, the cracks are showing. I do not want to see what a broken Rex Calder looks like."

  Rex let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not sure you’d like him much.”

  "Probably not," she said with a grin, nudging his arm again, lighter this time. "But I’d still stick around to annoy him."

  A small, reluctant chuckle escaped him. For the first time that day, some of the tension in his shoulders uncoiled.

  Rex shook his head, taking another sip of coffee. Tamsin didn’t pry any further. She knew when to push and when to let things sit.

  The air between them felt lighter, if only slightly.

  Then, something shifted.

  A ripple of movement near the station entrance. A subtle change in the room’s energy.

  Then, he saw her.

  Beatrix Sinclair moved through the station with practiced ease, her six legs carrying her with effortless grace, as if she belonged in the bullpen as much as the officers themselves.

  She was impeccably dressed. A tailored crimson silk blouse and a fitted, dark jacket draped elegantly over her midnight-blue fur, the silver-threaded embroidery catching just enough light to suggest refinement without extravagance. A gemstone ring—deep red and polished to a gleam—adorned one of her dominant fingers, completing the picture of someone who had spent years perfecting the art of understated influence.

  For all her presence, she never demanded the room.

  She simply let it shift around her.

  The bullpen didn’t go quiet, but it reacted to her arrival in its own way. Some officers greeted her with polite nods, a few murmuring quick acknowledgments with glances, watching her with curious admiration.

  "Good work, everyone," she said, her voice a smooth, rolling cadence of warmth and silk. "I thought I’d bring a little treat to lift spirits, given the… excitement from last night."

  She set an immaculately wrapped box of pastries on the nearest counter—a subtle, effortless gesture, one that made the bullpen visibly lighten as officers glanced toward the offering, murmuring their appreciation.

  It wasn’t bribery. It wasn’t manipulation. It was almost an expected gesture when Beatrix would make an appearance in the station. She treated the officers present well, and always wanted to let everyone know they were appreciated.

  Officers near the box thanked her. She kept the banter quick and pleasant until she noticed that Rex was in the office. She promptly glided over toward Rex’s desk, with graceful compliments to those she passed.

  "Detective Calder," Beatrix greeted, her voice carrying just enough warmth to make it feel personal, without overstepping.

  Rex exhaled as he set his pen down.

  "Afternoon, Beatrix," he muttered, massaging the bandages on his head.

  She smiled, not broadly but with a subtle shift of her mandibles that barely revealed her fangs. "You’re quite the legend this morning, dear."

  Rex gave a dry scoff, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, in this case fame’s overrated.”

  Beatrix chuckled softly, folding her dominant hands together with the kind of composure that always felt intentional. “It is a blessing and a curse.”

  She let the remark sit for a moment before tilting her head. “I wanted to check in on you. I did not expect to see you in the office today given the news.” Her secondary eyes flicked from his paperwork to his bandages, then back to him. "Even the best need rest, you know. I do hope you’re not letting it weigh on you too much."

  Rex lifted his coffee, shrugging off the underlying concern with a half-smile. “Just tying up loose ends. Paperwork doesn’t write itself.”

  "Of course not. But it’s good to know the city’s in capable hands, even if they are from behind a desk."

  Her voice carried an easy sincerity, her presence never overbearing—just the right amount of concern, just enough understanding to make someone feel seen. It was all very political, despite appearing genuine.

  Tamsin leaned back in her chair. "If you ask me, he’s better off buried in paperwork. At least this way he’s not causing headaches or getting hurt."

  Beatrix turned to her with a warm, knowing smile. "My apologies for the lack of greeting, Officer Voss. A pleasure as always."

  Tamsin smirked. "Likewise. But I have to say, you always seem to show up at the perfect time."

  Beatrix lifted one delicately adorned hand in a small shrug, her secondary arms providing a bit of an expressive flourish before folded back beneath her chest, "Timing is simply another form of good business, dear."

  She let the words settle before looking around the bullpen, “Where is Duke? It is unusual to not see him here at his desk with you if you are in the office.”

  Rex arced a thumb toward the hall that led to the holding cells, “He is wrapping up his loose ends for the day too. He should be back any time if you don’t mind waiting.”

  She turned slightly, her posture shifting. "I won’t keep you two any longer. I do have business with Captain Greer.”

  Rex gave her a small nod.

  Beatrix stepped away with practiced ease, moving toward Greer’s office in a silent, fluid rhythm, leaving behind only the lingering scent of silk and spice.

  The bullpen resumed its usual hum, but the shift of energy she had brought still lingered in the air.

  Rex watched the door to Greer’s office shut behind Beatrix, his fingers idly tapping against the edge of his desk.

  "Always a pleasure huh," he muttered, half to himself.

  Tamsin nodded, “Chitren are lucky to have animals like her out there.”

  Rex began stacking up the papers of his report in something resembling order when Duke’s familiar, hooved stride got both of their attention.

  “Got something,” Duke said, dropping a slip of paper onto Rex’s desk like he was laying down a winning poker hand. Scrawled across it in rough ink—one name.

  Quills.

  Rex glanced up, eyes narrowing. “That supposed to mean something?”

  Tamsin leaned in, coffee in hand, squinting at the name. “Quills… yeah, I’ve heard the name.” Her brow furrowed.

  Duke cut her a knowing look, then pulled a few mugshots from his file, spreading them across Rex’s desk like a blackjack dealer lining up cards.

  “Been digging around, checking for any ‘Quills’ tied to Wyldfire,” Duke said, his voice casual but carrying the weight of someone who knew he was onto something. “Narrowed it down to a few names—none of ’em exactly household favorites.”

  Tamsin tapped her fingers against her cup, “Likely a small-time dealer. Been running around for a while, but never tied to anything big.”

  Rex shifted forward in his chair, running his eyes over the mugshots. A handful of familiar faces, all carrying criminal records just dirty enough to be useful, but clean enough to keep them from getting pinned for anything major.

  “Middlemen. Runners,” Rex muttered, tapping a claw on the page, then dragging it across a particularly scrawny jackal’s file. “No way these guys are calling shots. They just move the product.”

  Tamsin took another sip of coffee, staring at the lineup. Then, with a snap of her fingers, she pointed at one mugshot.

  “Him.”

  They both looked over. The scruffy jackal with wiry fur, a jagged scar running from his brow to his jawline.

  Tamsin tapped the photo again, her eyes sharp with recognition. “I’ve seen this guy in Wildweald’s nightlife scene. Jasper is always in the background, always popping up when things are about to go sideways.

  Rex lifted a brow, glancing from her to Duke. “And he’s tangled up in Wyldfire?”

  Duke exhaled through his nose, arms crossed. “If he’s not dealing it directly, he’s at least got a hand in moving it. Look at this rap. He is clearly the kind of guy who never makes a big enough splash to get hit with the heavy charges, but dirty enough to stay valuable.” He nudged the file.

  Tamsin added, “He is also the sort of person that would likely be striking up his own business. Very entrepreneurial, if you would call it that. Duke, I would wager if he is the Quills that Roadie got those ampules from, he is doing it under the veil’s nose.”

  Rex nodded slowly, rolling the idea around in his head. “Roadie is way too stupid. Way to brazen for the veil to be actively leveraging him. You may be onto something there.”

  Tamsin sat back, watching the two of them, then smirked. “So… what’s the plan, gentlemen?”

  Rex and Duke exchanged a look.

  Then, Tamsin leaned forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “You two are benched. Which means anything official is off the table.”

  Duke gave her a pointed look. “That does limit our options.”

  She waved a hand dismissively. “We have time. I may be able to swing something with a contact that might have information, but I will need a few days. Our guy’s got an off-the-record setup. I can make some calls, coordinate a link-up.”

  Rex lifted a brow. “And what, we just happen to show up for a friendly chat?”

  Tamsin grinned. “That’s the spirit. Off duty, unofficial. Just a casual conversation. We could make it a date.”

  Rex gave her a glare.

  Duke chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds like you and Rex can have that end covered, and I will have to find something else to occupy my time.”

  Rex gave him a glare.

  Tamsin smirked, sipping her coffee. “My motivations are pure. I think we do have something to work with here, so this shouldn’t be a waste of time.”

  Rex exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. The station walls felt a little less suffocating now, the weight of the case finally shifting forward again.

  Duke pointed to Rex, “Go home. Clean yourself up. I am going to have a talk with the chief to see if I can make myself an exception to Rex’s punishment. I have a few contacts I can run through, and they are not exactly a big fan of you.”

  Rex closed his eyes and leaned back, “I get that a lot.”

  Duke gave him a flat glare, “You are abrasive.” He turned to Tamsin, “Thanks, Tamsin. If we can build up some more information before we go after Jasper, we may have more ground to squeeze him.”

  The three detectives shared a look—a silent agreement.

  Tamsin drained the last of her coffee and stood, stretching before gathering up the files. “I’ll get things moving. Shouldn’t take long to arrange.”

  Duke gave her a salute-like wave as she turned to go.

  She grinned and tapped the desk, “Get some rest Rex.”

  As she disappeared into the bullpen, Rex sighed and leaned back, rubbing his temple.

  He glanced at the remaining papers of the Crimson Ward report staring back at him.

  Gnash, the Bypass, the whole mess surrounding it? A total distraction from the Wyldfire case, and one he needed some time to process.

  His break was over. With a grunt, Rex pulled the file toward him. Flipping through the pages, he returned to the tedium of finishing his report.