Sparks stared into Fixer’s eyes. Reptilian. Glowing. Capillaries around the pupils pulsed with an oily yellow light. "You've got something in you too, but it's not the same as mine," Sparks surmised. "You're dosing on Champion."

  Fixer’s lip curled over fangs. "An unfortunate necessity. A means to get to where I need to be. What I will become. Something you clearly refuse to do. You're not even using yours properly."

  A laugh slipped from Sparks’ throat before he could stop it—short, sharp, and mocking. The great Cremation Killer was nothing more than a junkie. A poser. A child playing with borrowed matches. Sparks regained his composure. "I always knew you were incomplete. You're pathetic."

  Fixer’s snarl ripped through the park.

  In one motion, he grabbed Sparks by the throat and lifted him above the bench. Sparks’ feet dangled above the concrete, vision swimming. "Don't you dare talk down to me, you miserable fur-lined wretch!" Fixer slammed him down onto the bench, cracking the slats. "I've seen your little shit piles of 'art'. I thought you were just starting small—working your way up to something beautiful." His eyes pulsed bright yellow. "But no. You’re wasting fire on insurance fraud."

  Fixer’s grip was like a vice. Sparks struggled for breath.

  "All you do…is kill," Sparks choked. "Matches in a book…that’s all they are to you."

  "At least they'll remember me," Fixer snarled. "Every time I kill, I make sure it hurts. I burn the fear into their bones." He leaned in, voice feral. "The last thing they know before death is pain. You're stagnating, Lotus. I know you won't give up your fire easily, so I'll take it!"

  The claw around Sparks' throat began to tighten. He tapped his bond, pulling everything he had left. Fire bloomed in his hand, searing hot, and he slashed upward. Fixer caught the fiery blade barehanded—leather glove sizzling from the heat—and laughed…

  …until Sparks twisted the fiery edge and raked it across the killer’s mask.

  Metal hissed. Glass ruptured. Fixer staggered back, clutching his face as smoke poured from the crack.

  Sparks fell to one knee, gulping air. He caught the first glimpse of Fixer’s true flesh—scaly muzzle, red and flecked with green by the neckline. Wounds oozed like infected burns. "You've never been hurt like that before, have you?" Sparks rasped.

  Fixer roared. "That power will be mine!"

  He lunged. Sparks tried to sidestep. Too slow. Claws tore through his arm and chest. The strike sent Sparks sprawling across the path. His fireblade sputtered out.

  Fixer loomed over him, foot planted hard against his ribcage. "I'm going to snuff you out like the puny spark you are!"

  His chest swelled. A low growl rose from inside him, tone shifting into a furnace roar. Sparks watched in horror as orange fire built at the back of Fixer’s throat. What every victim had seen in their final moments.

  This was it.

  An axe whipped through the air—crashing into Fixer’s ribs and knocking him sideways.

  "STAY DOWN!" Rovert Trinity thundered as he barreled towards them, brandishing a second axe. Sparks rolled away, clutching his bleeding chest.

  "That’s him," Sparks croaked. "That’s the Cremation Killer!"

  Fixer pulled his mask aside and unleashed a blast of fire from his maw. Rovert threw himself over Sparks, his yellow turnout coat blackening beneath the inferno.

  "Stay behind me, sir!" Rovert ordered and waited for the flames to ebb. He rose to his feet carefully and tossed aside the ruined coat. His voice boomed like a church bell. "I have dedicated my life to protecting lives from the horrors of fire. You are the very embodiment of that which I fight against. You are my antithesis and you shall be extinguished!"

  He pressed a hand to the head of his axe. Light—warm, pure, unwavering—flared down the blade.

  A smoke cloud poured from Fixer’s sleeves, obscuring his position. Sparks got to his feet and pointed a shaking paw. "I’ll clear the smoke. Take him." With a gentle exhalation, a warm summer's wind blew in from their backs. Blue embers swirled through the air, pushing the smoke cloud away.

  Rovert charged.

  Steel met claws in a shower of sparks. Fixer bellowed and swung, Rovert deflecting each strike with holy steel and raw fury. Their clash echoed between the trees. With a frustrated roar, Fixer disengaged. He leapt high and away, latching onto the side of a building. The stone crunched as he clawed his way to the roof. At the rooftop’s edge, he turned back—eyes gleaming that bright, sickly yellow.

  "This isn't over!" he screamed. "I'll be seeing you again, Crimson Lotus!"

  Then he was gone.

  Rovert lowered his axe and turned to Sparks, suspicion settling in behind concern. "…Crimson Lotus?"

  Sparks dusted himself off and tried to not meet the captain's gaze. "No idea why he'd say that but thank you for the rescue. If you'll excuse me—"

  The captain placed one enormous, calloused paw gently on the top of Sparks’ head—and held it there. "You’re coming with me."

  *  *  *

  Questions flooded Buck’s mind. Names. Faces. Events. All of it tangled together like a spider’s web. The faces blurred into shadows and the shadows flattened into photographs, pinned together with crimson thread. He floated higher and higher, watching the web grow more intricate with every connection — until it reshaped itself. Lines twisted, folding inward, forming a familiar silhouette. A fox’s head made of wireframe and red string.

  It smiled.

  "We'll find the answers, Buck. We'll find the Truth."

  Its mouth kept moving, but sound vanished in a wash of static, replaced by a steady beep…beep…beep.

  His eyes cracked open, squinting in the brightness of the ceiling lights. Disinfectant stung his nose. Starched sheets rough against his legs. His right arm was bound in a brace and sling. Something tugged at the skin near his cheek and over one eye. He tried to move and pain lanced through his chest.

  "Easy! Easy now—you’re not ready to sit up yet. Didn't expect you to be awake so soon."

  A female's voice. Kind, with a familiar edge. His blurred vision slowly clarified. A dark-furred tabbi leaned over him, golden rings around the eyes. Not in a lab coat. A leather jacket. Complete with spikes and multiple earrings.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "You…Aethercorp…" Buck slurred.

  "Nope. That was my sister Reina," she said with a grin, tapping her visitor sticker. "I’m Spotty. Spotty Chorus." There was a glint of metal around her neck: a lighthouse medallion engraved with three letters. LBR. "So, the mob tried to kill you, huh?" Spotty added matter-of-factly, clearly already knowing the answer.

  Buck blinked, his memories re-aligning. He tried to sit up a little but his ribs advised against it. The stab of pain cleared away his mental fog. "That’s the working theory. Guess they got tired of waiting for results."

  Spotty folded a chart shut. "You were working for them?"

  "I was trying to stop the Cremation Killer. Pazienza offered resources. I assumed we had a mutual goal." He exhaled, glancing at the vase of flowers beside his bed. Goldie’s handwriting on the card: Get well soon! You promised!

  "Maybe he didn’t like the company you’ve been keeping," Spotty noted. "Sparks of Life. Krouri Kukri. Hazelnut Bushytail."

  Buck stared at her. "You’re…well informed. You don’t work here, do you?"

  "I work in here," she said, tapping her temple. "Information. Truth." The lighthouse medallion caught the light—her eyes flickered briefly white.

  "Truth. Like Zywrath?"

  "Similar tools. Different focus." Spotty lowered her voice. "Truth is fragile. It wants to live, but it’s easy to bury. My group's job is to keep it uncovered and get it to the people who need it."

  Buck suddenly realized where he'd heard her voice before. "The radio. You're the Spotlight!" he exclaimed.

  "Lighthouse Beacon Radio, yes." The smile widened. "Hello, New Warren. Now you get it."

  Pain tugged at the edge of each breath, but her words were strangely grounding. "So what are you doing here?"

  "You’re newly bonded," she said simply. "You need orientation." She gestured to the right side of his face. "And a warning. I wouldn't remove that just yet. It's still healing."

  Buck hesitated…and brought his good hand back down.

  "Normally, I wouldn't be this direct when dealing with someone tied so closely to the princess of a corrupt media empire, but I recognize that look in your eyes. You want answers. You need to know the Truth."

  She sat on the corner of his bed. "Bottom line, Buck. I want to help you. What mystery are you trying to solve right now? Not all of it—just the loudest question."

  His mind raced. There were so many things he needed an answer for. Sam's death was a big one but that was personal. He had time to work on that on his own. The talk with Zywrath at the diner came to mind. The look of horror on Hazelnut's face as she rushed from the diner after seeing the message.

  "V," Buck said softly. "Who is he? What does he want? What is he after?"

  Spotty nodded, unsurprised. "I got word after the explosion. Your friends know already. You should too. His name is Victor." Her voice hardened. "You knew him as Reginald."

  Buck went still. Then closed his one good eye and let out a harsh breath. V had been right alongside them the whole time. That's how he always knew when he was in contact with Sparks or the others. "Of course it was the goddamn butler."

  "And that’s not the worst of it," Spotty added. "He’s bonded. To something. Hazelnut and Illani barely escaped. Sparks is missing. His house is ash."

  The murderboard of blood red string shifted, threads snapping and realigning. Kindling. The fire at Aethercorp. The escalation. The obsession.

  "This is about the Eidolon," he muttered. "It’s about Kindling."

  Spotty’s expression turned solemn. "The Eidolon of Creativity. Possibly the first of them." She hesitated. "There’s more. But here’s the short version: I can help—but you’re not leaving this bed until you hear the bad news."

  Buck was already pulling monitor leads off his chest. "Then start talking."

  *  *  *

  The Stoneroot overflow detention center did little to disguise its original purpose. Cold stone walls. Narrow cells. The kind of place that smelled more of regret than justice. Krouri and Hazelnut followed Lieutenant Zywrath into the holding area and found Sparks behind a set of iron bars, bandaged across his throat, arms, and chest. He looked exhausted—but conscious.

  Zywrath exhaled as he stepped inside. "Captain Trinity is being treated for second-degree burns," he said, voice ragged. "He will recover. That said, he is furious that the Cremation Killer escaped—and he is taking it out on you." His eyes narrowed at Sparks. "Given what we now know about the Crimson Lotus, you are unlikely to simply walk away from this."

  "But it wasn’t his fault!" Hazelnut blurted. "He was attacked!"

  The lieutenant held up a hand in defense. "Trinity’s creed is simple—arsonists endanger lives. He will not sign off on leniency just because the city is burning from two directions instead of one. You will have to come up with something on your own if you want him released."

  "Then deputize him," she said. "Use a fire to fight a fire. Let him join the task force."

  "In exchange for a pardon?" Sparks added, pressing up against the bars. "I like the sound of that."

  "A pardon is unlikely," Zywrath admitted. "But potentially—reduced charges. A conditional release."

  Hazelnut perked. "What about testimony? No court will believe Fixer over Sparks."

  Zywrath shrugged. "I admit, most of the evidence on Sparks is circumstantial. It would be the words of a known killer versus that of an upstanding, and I use that term loosely, citizen. It is more likely they will believe the insurance investigators."

  He flipped open a file and read aloud. "The suspect’s private residence burned to the ground with an insurance policy fully paid up. Later that same day the suspect is apprehended fighting a serial killer in a public park. Witnessed by Captain Trinity." He snapped the file shut. "Anyone looking at that would assume you torched your own house and then simply got unlucky."

  "It wasn’t him," Hazelnut said through clenched teeth. "It was Victor."

  Zywrath sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose in exhaustion. "Look, I apologize if I gave any indication that I would be helping Sparks absolve his crimes. I am not ignoring you but I have to deal in what I can prove. For now."

  "Then let me give you something worth proving." Sparks’ voice was suddenly steady, almost clinical. "Fixer is on Champion. I’m certain of it. I cut his mask—red scaled lizardkin, eyes glowing with yellow radiation. Breakout sores at the neckline. He breathed literal fire. Whatever it is, it’s a forced bond—temporary and volatile."

  Zywrath grabbed a pad and started writing. "That is…useful. I will call a sketch artist." His phone buzzed. He answered, listening, then gave a small nod. "Good news. Buck has regained consciousness."

  The girls exhaled in relief. Sparks blinked in confusion. "Regained? Was he napping?"

  "While you were being attacked by Victor and Fixer, Buck was at the center of an explosion near Grenda's," Hazelnut explained.

  "Goodness. Is that why your arm is bandaged?" Sparks asked, pointing to the wrapped wound on the squirrel's arm.

  "No, that would be from your fucking butler," she snapped.

  Sparks’ ears flattened. "Right. Yes. That—was not Reginald. Please accept my apologies for…well. All of him. And to think I bought him a signed copy of the Shamilton soundtrack for his birthday."

  He turned to Zywrath again. "One more thing. Before I was ambushed, I spoke with Sootmin. He knows about Fixer. Maybe not his identity, but capability and purpose. I found one of his illusion rings in his pocket—you’ll find it in my belongings. It might help."

  Zywrath surprised them all with the faintest hint of a grin. "Now you are thinking like an investigator." Then he looked to Krouri. "You have been quiet. Something on your mind?"

  Krouri glanced at Illani standing just behind Hazelnut. She didn’t want to say it—but Order’s words wouldn’t leave her mind. "I’ve been…considering something my Eidolon told me after Buck was taken away." She met the girl’s eyes. "Illani doesn’t carry Truth. She only thinks she does. Order insists she’s bonded to Chaos."

  Illani recoiled. "That's not true! It can't be!" Her medallion flickered at her chest.

  "Take my hand," Krouri said gently. "Let me show you."

  Illani hesitated—then placed her hand in Krouri’s. Their eyes both flared with power. Krouri felt Order’s certainty move through her like cold steel. There was a flash—green and white—and Illani screamed. She crumpled to the floor, hands pressed to her temples. The lighthouse medallion blackened and twisted, the metal edges curling like burnt paper.

  Hazelnut caught her, terrified. "Illani! Are you okay?!"

  Zywrath rounded on Krouri. "What did you do?"

  Krouri didn’t flinch. "I exposed a lie. Chaos does not hold up well to scrutiny."

  Illani sat shaking, blood trickling from one eye, unable to speak.

  Zywrath looked between them, unsure of how to proceed. "I do not know about that, but I know an injustice when I see one." Before he could demand more, his phone buzzed again. He answered, listening—and his eyes went wide with surprise.

  "This is Zywrath.....he what?!"