While Grenda's Diner had reopened, it was noticeably emptier. The morning crowd was a ghost of its former self. A crime scene—even a cleaned one—wasn't great for business.

  That morning, Lieutenant Zywrath was already seated at one of the larger booths when Buck arrived. Hazelnut and a disguised Krouri had beaten him there and were placing orders with Grenda herself. Buck took a seat next to the lieutenant and ordered a coffee and danish for himself.

  "It's good to see you again, Buck," Grenda smiled, eyeing the rest of the table with approval. "And with friends no less. 'Bout time. Is this everyone?"

  "Just one more. Should be here any minute." Buck replied. "How's everyone been?"

  "We're managing all right, thank ye kindly. It's been slow, but things will perk up again soon. Poor Tim was so rattled, he requested some time off. Told him to take all the time he needs. Saves me a broken dish or twelve. Hah!" Laughing at her own joke, she left to fill everyone's order.

  The bell above the door jingled softly as a tuxedo colored tabbi in a dark suit and spectacles walked in. Sparks, wearing Krouri’s enchanted disguise hat. Zywrath clocked him immediately. They shared a silent beat of mutual suspicion…and unspoken truce.

  Once Sparks took his seat, Zywrath got straight to business. "All right. What have you discovered?"

  Buck started with Fixer’s confirmed identity as the Cremation Killer. Zywrath didn’t look surprised—but he did look grim. Buck outlined the Don’s involvement and the forced ‘agreement’ they’d reached. Krouri added her research about the property sales and Pazienza’s financial ties.

  "Pazienza’s influence notwithstanding, the killer feels like part of something larger," Zywrath said, hands folded. "Bigger… but less visible. Something that does not want light shining on it."

  "That must be V," Buck replied. "Zadron was working for him. Which makes V at least indirectly responsible for the blackout at Aethercorp."

  Zywrath frowned. "No, Zadron's a known associate of Pazienza. Why would V eliminate one of the Don’s own?"

  "Maybe because V bought the victim out." Krouri leaned in. "Several of the victims had outstanding loans with Pazienza that were mysteriously paid off before they died. What if V cleared their debts…and used them as lab rats?"

  "Then why pick junkies?" Zywrath countered. "Finn was a known addict as well as two of the other victims. Odd choices for test subjects."

  Their conversation paused as Grenda arrived with a few plates. Hazelnut had ordered a bowl of fruit, yogurt and granola. Krouri was given a poppy seed bagel which she began to spread with cream cheese. Grenda set down Buck's coffee and danish as she looked at Sparks in disguise. "Anything for you, handsome?" she asked him. He shook his head quietly so she excused herself to check on another table.

  Zywrath resumed. "We know Fixer is not targeting a specific demographic. We know Gladiator is involved, or rather, the enhanced form. We have dubbed it 'Champion'. Someone has to be orchestrating the tests."

  Sparks spoke up for the first time since joining them. "Why would V let the test subjects walk around freely?"

  "They didn't," Buck answered. "I saw the fear in Finn's eyes. He was running. He knew what Fixer could do. I think he escaped."

  "Then what are they testing for?" Zywrath asked.

  Hazelnut’s voice was barely audible. "The Eidolons."

  All eyes shifted to her. Zywrath didn’t look surprised. "How do you know about the Eidolons?" he asked.

  Buck studied the lieutenant's face and got a flash of the fox with the bloodshot eyes.

  "How do you?" asked Sparks, leaning forward and studying Zywrath as well. "Well, isn't this interesting."

  Zywrath exhaled slowly. "I cannot disclose my source. But yes—I am aware of them. What happened at Aethercorp significantly increased Eidolon activity. They are forces of nature and ideals that can be called upon. Similar to the powers mythologized by the clerics, sorcerers and warlocks of old. It has been theorized that Champion may be a catalyst for forced bonds."

  "A…synthetic connection?" Sparks muttered, repulsed at the thought.

  "Temporary. Unstable and extremely dangerous. Tell me," Zywrath looked at each of them in turn. "I assume you all have bonded as well?"

  "As well?" Buck asked, curious.

  "I will tell you mine if you tell me yours." The faintest hint of a smile peeked through Zywrath's stoic facade.

  "Order," Krouri offered.

  "Fire," Sparks added.

  "Determination," Buck said quietly. "And…guilt." The lieutenant looked at Hazelnut expectantly.

  "I...don't know," Hazelnut began slowly. "I've had dreams where something is calling out behind a closed door. They keep begging to be released but the voice is so demanding. I've been too scared to open it."

  "Mine is the reason I did not lock you up, Miss Bushytail. The reason I agreed to this meeting at all, and how I can look at all of you now and know you are being genuine. Justice." He punctuated it with a sip of his coffee. "I can tell to a degree if someone is deserving of Justice or seeking it."

  He examined Sparks as though trying to solve a puzzle without opening it. "In that regard, you are the most complicated one here. There is a lot you have gotten away with and yet, there is something else that needs your attention. Something that has not been fully extinguished."

  He gestured to the others. "The rest of you have a reckoning due. Not to the degree that Fixer or Pazienza does, but that is why we're having this conversation. I am able to get some sense that I can actually trust you."

  The discussion continued—Aethercorp, the radio broadcasts, the sudden surge of Eidolon manifestations in the city. Sparks brought up Leo's display of icy rage. Zywrath had reached the same conclusion—Champion was in full circulation.

  "What about Feng?" Buck asked.

  "No luck. All my attempts to contact Feng or learn more about the company have been stymied," Zywrath answered.

  "What if we can arrange a meeting with Feng for you?" Sparks offered. "With the agreement that you share what you learn from your ability? How close do you need to be for your 'Justice Sight' to work?"

  Zywrath visibly recoiled at the term. "The closer I am to the subject's eyes, the better. For example," he turned to look at Buck directly, his own eyes glowing a pale blue as he communed with his Eidolon. "Whatever wrongdoing you think you've done, I can tell you're already paying the price."

  Buck took a breath. "While we’re being honest…the warehouse case. It's where Sam died. Someone set us up. And I think that someone was—"

  Hazelnut’s phone rang. She answered and put it on speaker.

  "They took him! Poppy’s hurt!" Widget’s voice sobbed through the line.

  Hazelnut shot to her feet. "Who?!"

  "Masks—three of them—they had guns—

  They took Iggy!"

  Silence fell across the diner. The phone buzzed again. A new message:

  I warned you there would be consequences. -V

  Hazelnut was out the door like a shot. Krouri followed without a word. Sparks picked up the phone and dropped it into Buck's coffee.

  Another text message sounded, this time from Sparks. He looked at his device and scowled.

  "V again?" asked Buck.

  "Gaul," answered Sparks. "He's demanding I meet him at my home. I have to go."

  "I should go join the investigation at the apartment," Buck said as he rose from the booth. "I'll fill you in on everything I find."

  Zywrath stared at the phone in Buck's mug. "I am confident you are already aware, detective, but be careful. This V is proving themselves a dangerous individual."

  Buck paused at the door. "One more thing. Something is off about Sootmin. I know he's a lawyer for some of the city's worst, but my gut tells me he's worth keeping on your radar."

  "We have looked into him before," said Zywrath. "He is clean, practically too clean. Still, I will keep it in mind."

  Buck ducked out onto the street and flagged for a cab.

  * * *

  The apartment building was awash in activity. Two patrol cars flanked the entrance, lights painting the brick facade in cold red and blue. Officers blocked the door, holding back a cluster of bystanders. One started to halt Hazelnut—until a firm voice from the lobby interrupted.

  "It’s all right, officers. She lives here. It was her boy they took."

  Pearl Murray stepped forward and drew Hazelnut into a tight, motherly embrace. "Poppy’s going to be okay. Widget’s shaken, but she’ll come around. From what we’ve heard…Iggy’s not hurt."

  "I saw it. I saw it all," came a rough voice as Carl shuffled into view, leaning heavily on his cane.

  Hazelnut nearly sobbed in relief. "Carl, please. Tell me everything."

  The old fox nodded gravely. "I already told the cops, but I know you care about the boy." He adjusted his glasses. "There were four of ‘em. Big bastards. I was keepin’ watch but these brutes looked like more than I could handle, so I pretended to be asleep behind my newspaper. They went right past me and kicked in the girl's door. Loud bang. Screamin’. Then a gunshot. .38, if my ears ain’t lyin’." His jaw tightened. "When they dragged the boy out, he had a bag over his head. One of them argued with the other—said the boss didn’t want him hurt. Must be why the kid managed to knock a mask loose. I saw the muzzle—broad snout, floppy ears. He fixed it quick and they bolted. Didn’t see a car, only the exhaust."

  Hazelnut pulled him into a fierce hug. "Thank you. Thank you."

  Carl muttered something under his breath about "damn hooligans" and limped back to his apartment.

  Hazelnut made her way down the hall. The door to Poppy and Widget’s apartment lay splintered off its hinges, yellow tape crisscrossed over the frame. Drops of blood stained the carpet. She stood there a long moment, fists clenched. V had brought the fight into her home—her family. She turned and ran up the stairwell. Her own apartment was blessedly untouched.

  She dove under the bed and pulled out the burner phone. One missed call—earlier today. She’d ignored it. Regret burned in her chest. She grabbed the landline and dialed a known number with shaking fingers.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  "H-Hazelnut?" Illani answered.

  "I need you over here," Hazelnut said, voice barely steady. "V took Iggy. I need your help to find him."

  "I’m on my way."

  The line clicked. Hazelnut slowly hung up the receiver. She sank down to the floor beside her bed, clutching the burner phone to her chest. Iggy was alone. Scared. Waiting for her.

  And she had promised he would be safe. Hazelnut pulled her knees to her chest and quietly cried into the dark.

  * * *

  Krouri had followed Hazelnut from the sky until the squirrel vanished somewhere between rooftops and alleys. Winded and frustrated, she dropped from the air, hailed a taxi, and ordered it through every red light. When she reached the building, two officers stood blocking the door.

  "My friend just had her child kidnapped. MOVE."

  Something stirred behind her eyes—an Eidolon’s insistence—and the words struck like a command. The officers flinched and stepped aside.

  "Krouri!" Behind her, Illani was racing up the steps. Together, they hurried inside and up to the squirrel's apartment.

  Hazelnut was just inside the doorway, eyes red and wide. She recounted Carl’s account in a shaky rush, voice cracking as she reached the end. "We need to tell Buck—we need to find him before—"

  "We will," Krouri said, wrapping her arms around her. "We will."

  Illani stepped forward. "What can I do?"

  Hazelnut pressed the burner phone into her hands. "Find him…find V."

  Illani gave a determined nod and reached beneath her feathers, pulling out a silver medallion—a lighthouse gleaming at its center. Krouri froze. She’d seen that same image in her first vision. Illani cupped the medallion in one hand, clutching the phone in the other. Whispered words became an incantation.

  "Parse away the untruths…find what must be found…reveal it to the light. I invoke the Eidolon of Truth!"

  Her eyes flashed white.

  The phone frame twisted in her hand, warping and glowing with heat. Illani gritted her teeth, breath ragged.

  "H-He’s not shielded by one of them…but…he knows how to…hide." Blood welled and ran from beneath her eyes. "I—won’t—let—him—lie—anymore—!"

  The phone flared white-hot. Illani gasped and let it fall, collapsing to her knees. Krouri and Hazelnut rushed forward, hauling her to the couch as she fanned her blistered palm. Hazelnut emptied a water bottle over Illani’s hand. "What did you see? Illani—talk to me."

  Illani stared down at the medallion in her hand.

  The lighthouse was blazing.

  "I know his name," she whispered. "I know V’s name."

  * * *

  Sparks didn’t take the cab directly to his house. He had it drop him a block away, just in case someone was watching. This little hat was quite useful, he thought. Might have to ask to borrow it again. He passed several homes as opulent as his own, each with manicured lawns and carefully pruned hedges. He couldn’t recall even a single neighbor’s name. People in Crystal Meadows didn’t mingle. They curated. In another life that might’ve amused him, but today it felt different. Smaller.

  It was one thing for V to provide an outlet for his artistic endeavors. It was quite another to kidnap a child.

  He rounded the corner—and stopped. Gaul’s car sat in the middle of his front lawn, half-buried in Sparks’ topiary. That was twice now he’d had problematic parkers. His landscaper was going to have an aneurysm.

  Reginald already stood waiting at the open front door. "Master Sparks. You have a visitor."

  "I gathered," Sparks murmured, eyeing the wreck of a parking job. "Bring us some tea, if you would please, Reginald."

  Gaul was in the den, sleeves rolled past the elbow, suit jacket and tie discarded, pacing in front of the fireplace like a caged beast. His gaze snapped to Sparks as he entered.

  "You mind telling me what possessed you to have breakfast with the very detective who tried to arrest you?"

  "Just doing a bit of networking." Sparks joked.

  "You don't network with the authorities!" Gaul exploded. His voice had none of its usual polish—just raw, frayed nerves. "I've spent years insulating you from consequences and in one act of magnificent stupidity you throw yourself directly into the spotlight! You don't handle 'networking'. That's my job! That's V's job!"

  Sparks whipped his head towards the kitchen. The door appeared to be shut tight. He gestured for Gaul to lower his voice. "You better have a privacy spell in place," he admonished.

  Gaul ignored him. "Why are you doing this? You could simply stay here and continue to enjoy your little way of life. Fancy brunches and high tea, carelessly dreaming in a sunbeam. Instead, you compound my grunt work, trying to keep your little 'breakfast club' away from your secrets. A club, by the way, now consisting of two nosy detectives and, oh yes, a reporter for the oldest and most respected newspaper in the city!"

  That made Sparks back up a step. He hadn't mentioned the meeting with Zywrath and the others to anyone, not even Reginald. He'd given an excuse about a meeting with the Breakball team manager. "Where are you getting your information?" he asked.

  "That is none of your concern," Gaul spat.

  "Oh really? Because you seem to be working with a lot more information than you should. I took steps to hide my presence this morning and yet, not even a comment on my new look?"

  Sparks spun slowly, gesturing to his changed coloration before removing the hat and tossing it in a nearby chair. His fur returned to its normal orange color. "I'll ask again, where are you getting your information?"

  "The people I work with?" Gaul jabbed a claw toward Sparks’s chest. "They’ve survived the deepest pits of the criminal underbelly—those who have fought fang and claw to get to where they are now. They earned everything they have by being tougher, smarter, and far, far more ruthless than their enemies." He leaned in, teeth bared. "Leagues beyond you, little cat."

  Sparks opened his mouth, but Gaul barreled on. "I do that for you! I afford you this comfortable way of life where you don't have to worry about the consequences of your…artistic inclinations. You don't commit crimes because you don't have any."

  Gaul’s voice cracked with fury. "As far as the general populace is concerned, you are a noble, upstanding citizen. A philanthropist. Do you think that just happens?" He jammed a thumb into his chest. "It happens because I make it happen. Because you have talent in one very specific field: destruction. I am useful in many, many others. But the only one you need to care about is my ability to keep you out of prison!"

  He slammed his fist backwards into the stone fireplace, cracking the masonry.

  "But now?" he growled, breathing hard. "Now you’ve decided you know better than every hardened killer and broker I’ve dealt with. Poking around. Making friends. Drawing attention."

  A snarl twisted his face.

  "You are risking everything you have. Everything I have. And for what, Sparks? Are you so bored with luxury that you had to go and poke the proverbial bear?"

  Sparks' eyes narrowed. He'd seen Gaul angry before but this was another level. The rant was on the verge of being insulting. "Is that why you called me home?" he asked. "To scold me like a child and send me to my room? Why are you here?"

  "I came to give you a final warning. I am more than capable of washing my hands of you. This. Ends. Now."

  Gaul’s breathing was ragged. For the first time in all their years, Sparks realized the lion wasn’t furious—he was afraid.

  "You're scared of something," Sparks said, watching him closely. "You've been backed into a corner."

  Gaul finally lowered his voice. "The only thing I'm scared of is losing the time and effort we've invested in you."

  "We?"

  "You know full well you're not the only one who benefits from your work," Gaul scoffed. "Why do you think you're paid so handsomely?"

  "Oh, I know exactly what I'm paid for. But you? You’re not simply my attorney, are you? You’re a handler."

  Gaul blanched. He actually staggered backward. The word handler sucked all the color from his face. Sparks pressed the advantage.

  "I’ve been wondering," Sparks added softly. "What does that make me, then? A… Fixer?"

  Gaul recoiled at the term and his face drained of color. For a heartbeat, Sparks thought the lion might actually bolt. He stepped closer, closing the distance and pressing Gaul against the fireplace.

  "There are many things that you do that I appreciate, Gaul. The fact I haven't fired you yet proves that. But I will NOT have you coming into my home and chastising me like a school child. Do I make myself clear?"

  "Keep your mouth shut," Gaul hissed. "And end this. Before it’s ended for you."

  He backed toward the foyer, nearly tripping over the end table before fumbling his phone to his ear and fleeing through the door. His car engine howled and tore another gouge across the lawn as he sped off.

  Sparks sagged, adrenaline burning off in one long exhale.

  Reginald appeared at the archway, holding a tea tray. "I-I beg your pardon, sir. I tried not to eavesdrop. Are you…are you all right?"

  "I’m not entirely sure." Sparks took the tray and set it down. "To be honest, I think I just learned more in five minutes than in the last five years." He forced a thin smile. "Perhaps…something a little stronger than tea."

  The butler nodded. "Yes, sir. I believe I have just the thing." He turned back toward the kitchen.

  Sparks bent to collect Gaul’s abandoned suit jacket from the floor. He picked it up, dusting it off. His paw brushed against something hard in one of the pockets. Reaching inside, he found an intricate ring inlaid with a multitude of gemstones. He’d seen Gaul wear this before. It could store and cast a variety of illusions.

  Before he could process the implication, his phone buzzed. Krouri.

  "Are you alone?" Her voice was sharp. No pleasantries. Just urgency.

  "Yes—Gaul’s just left and Reginald’s fixing me a drink—"

  "Leave. Now. Don’t worry about the butler, don’t worry about anything. Just get out of the—"

  The line went dead.

  And behind him—click.

  The unmistakable sound of a hammer being pulled back.

  "It has been…" Reginald said calmly, stepping into the doorway, brandy decanter in one hand and a massive rune-etched revolver in the other, "…a challenge, working this close to you for so long."

  Sparks turned slowly. His mouth went dry. "Reginald?"

  The corgi smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.

  "‘Victor’, actually. But I’ve always preferred… V."

  He dropped the decanter. It shattered into a hundred glittering shards.

  "There’s nothing more frustrating," Victor said, leveling the gun at his chest, "than watching an investment forget who it belongs to."

  * * *

  The streets outside the diner were eerily still.

  Buck had already walked up and down the block and hadn’t seen a single taxi. No cars passing, no foot traffic—just silence and empty pavement lit by flickering street lamps. Something about it tugged at the back of his mind.

  Maybe I should’ve asked Zywrath for a—

  "Mister uh… Piper? Buck Piper?"

  Buck turned. A young stoat on a courier bike coasted to a stop beside him. The vest said EXPRESS MESSENGER. "That’s me," he said carefully. "What’s this?"

  The kid shrugged and held out a small clipboard. "Dunno and not my job to know. Priority delivery. Just need ya signature here."

  Buck scribbled his name on the form and was handed a small wooden box tied closed with string, a folded note tucked under the bow. The boy, his delivery complete, pedaled away.

  The box was light. No smell. He gave it a small shake—nothing.

  Weird.

  Buck untied the bow and unfolded the note.

  Dear Mr. Piper,

  You're Fired.

  Click.

  Something inside shifted.

  Instinct seized him—he hurled it away as far as he could.

  BOOM.

  The blast ripped the street open. Buck flew backwards, slamming against a parked car with enough force to cave in the door. His ears rang—high pitched and unrelenting. A screen of red covered his vision. The world spun.

  He tried to breathe. No air came.

  Pain flooded in. Arms first—sharp, searing. Shrapnel. His skull pounded. He blinked, forcing one eye open. His arm lay twisted at a grotesque angle in front of him. The other shook as he tried to push himself upright. The effort made bile rise in his throat. Blood poured off his muzzle, pattering onto the street below.

  Get up, a voice snarled in his head. You know who did this. The others are in danger. GET. UP.

  Another voice, real and familiar, cut through the ringing in his ears.

  "Buck! BUCK! Hang on—help is coming!"

  Boots pounded across the street. A radio flared to life.

  "This is Lieutenant Zywrath," the voice barked. "I need fire and rescue at Grenda’s Diner immediately. We have an officer down—repeat, officer down! Multiple injuries—move!"