06:00, Port Ashthrone, Crime Scene

Smoke raised in a cloud past his lips to cast a veil on the overcast sky above his head. He drew the tab away from his lips while the crowd and noise milled at the edge of the caution tape. The first step is curiosity. The next step is asking questions. He watched a police officer try and wave the crowd off with varying results for his efforts. Each person was more nosey than the last, some going on their tippy toes though there was nothing to see, others tried to bob and weave past their neighbours. His gaze trailed over every face, an intake of memory, though none showed signs of being from the world the Norms feared — the world he was born into. Music drummed out of the nearby pub, and he bounced his tab against the wall to let the ashes fall to the pavement below, to add to the name of his hometown. Ashthrone — where mystical dreams are found. He scoffed at the town motto. I'd say the motto is 'everywhere you step, you risk crunching ancient bones and waking its owner up.' He kept himself leaned against the wall of the cafe, who found its doors closed due to said complication of caution tape. His wristwatch ticked along for his early start after he got the harried call from both bureaus. Considering this happened within walking distance of the department... Another puff of tasteless smoke, free of the effects Norms dealt with. One moment of closed eyes wouldn't hurt him—

"Eldridge!"

But duty calls. Lyon squished the rest of the tab, hiding it with his palm to burn the rest away before detaching himself from the wall. Officer Murdoch, a stout, muscular, but one of his bosses, waved him down the alleyway while the others tried to disperse the crowd — the struggles of a relatively small city. If it could be considered that. His other boss chose him for the Ashthrone Department as his watch over the two worlds. And she'll want a report on this. "What do we know about the victim?" he asked Murdoch. "Is he from out of town?"

"Whoever did this didn't leave much to recognize, so I can't say for certain," Officer Murdoch admitted, hand near the holster of his gun. "I'm waiting for a report on the dental records. Scene's all yours though. Any other information you need, you'll need to bring it up with McMillon. And, Eldridge—" His hand stopped him short from approaching his work. "I don't think I have to remind you that if this gets out, not only do we have to deal with a possibly crazed murderer, we've got to deal with the press and every Tom, Dick, and Jerry trying to get underfoot."

You have no idea. Lyon turned the corner into the infamous Port Ashthrone harbour. If any was there to commit a terrible murder — right in the limelight of the reopening of the casino was a choice too on the nose to ignore. The foundry cast its shadow across the crime scene. Blood splatters littered the concrete, though the trajectory slid away with last night's rain. He stopped at the edge of the marked points of interest, some of the photographers taking different angles of the sight. This month has been so quiet too... His finger brushed against his nose, before he tucked into his pockets to find his gloves, keeping out of the way until it was time. Dismemberment... starting at the midsection, it looks like. Whoever this is... ran into something — a beast? Is there a pack near here? It's not even a full moon so if this is a werewolf... they knew exactly what they were doing, but still... Lyon looked over his shoulder to the defunct shops with boarded up windows. Norms often chose the path of least resistance when it came to not noticing what was around them, right under the surface. Glamours which hid the not so obvious. Tiny sparkles, barely noticeable, an entrance past the veil. Over the puddles of blood, he frowned at the lack of tracks — and ghosts weren't quite able to cause the damage in front of him.

Rain could've washed it away. He slid on his gloves when the last photographer drew back, but he stopped at the harsh sound of retching on one of the piers. Bent over the dock and into the water, McMillon, a younger officer in the department, threw up his breakfast — or lack of one. One last sweep of the immediate area, he headed up to his coworker and said, "Larson, once you're done I need all the notes taken before I got here. If you took them. Anything out of the ordinary, witness testimonies, security footage so we can pinpoint the victim's movements and see if we can't peg who did this."

"Someone with a chainsaw?" Larson asked with a rough gulp.

"Well, if it was someone with a chainsaw, someone would've heard it."

"Lyon Eldridge, right down to business as usual, cool as a cucumber." Larson peeked between his legs, then his pallor turned ashen again when he leaned over the pier. "I'll get witness testimonies."

"Better for you, it seems." Lyon left him to his business. "The coroner should be here soon. It'll be out of your sight and a relief on your stomach." Off of the trembling pier and another retch behind him, he stepped himself around the small markers and scrunched his nose as the smell of sick sweetness mixed with old rust. He tried to retrace steps from either direction, measuring the distance between the scene and the Ashthrone P.D. Knees against the concrete, he scanned over the second layer. With Larson too busy trying to keep down his lunch and no crowds in view, he slipped out his knife and waited for the heat to press into his skin before the blade revealed itself with a shimmer, and he turned it over to reveal the reflection. The defunct shops revealed their true colors, though the lights were off. From defunct to lived in, if closed for the daytime. He let go of the pulsing heat in his arm and the knife retracted. Hidden back in his coat, he searched through the crime scene. No weapons. No tracks. No anything. And right in front of a haunt for vamps... He drew his teeth over his lips, taking out his notebook to write down his observations — not for the P.D. As he took another circuit around the crime scene, noting the addresses, he slammed to a stop at his phone buzzing in his pocket.

Ignoring it for the time being, he stopped when Larson found his crime scene legs and got back on them. Lyon snapped his fingers when he swayed. "Witness testimonies. Go." Thumb over his shoulder, Larson gave a shaky nod and shambled out of the area. Need to make sure the veil wasn't broken or there will be hell to pay... literally. No sooner had his phone stopped ringing, it started again. Gloves off, he shoved them back in his pocket for later disposal to grab his phone and snap it open. "Yes, Ray? What is it?"

His younger brother laughed on the other end, blissfully unaware of anything. "It sounds like the night owl was forced to be an early worm," he joked. "Did you make breakfast?"

"Ray, you're eighteen, make your own," Lyon grumbled and found a nice spot along the wall to lean on. "What do you want? If you're here to call me about running out of food, we're going to have problems because I just went to the grocery store two days ago."

"Actually!" Ray piped up. "I was asking if you had breakfast."

Lyon rubbed the bridge of his nose again. "Ray, I'm at work. You're going to have to call me later..." He drifted off at a shimmer in the corner of his eye, but when he turned to it, it disappeared with his blink. Temple throbbing, he shook out the confusion and muttered, "Now's just not a good time for this." He checked his wristwatch again. "And if you're still home by the time I get back you're getting your ass beat for skipping school."

"You skipped school so much though," Ray complained.

"Ever heard of do as I say not as I do? This is one of them. Go to school. Stay there." Out of whatever the hell is happening here. He scowled when Ray huffed on the other end. "Also, that was a little different. Namely, I had you to take care of, remember that?"

"No."

"Start remembering." Lyon swung his head up at the foundry alarms ringing out for the shift change. "I'll talk to you later after school." He hung up on his younger brother without a proper goodbye, especially at the cut-off complaint of Ray's and shoving his phone back in his pocket. Norms decried the 'monsters' under their bed, when often the worst monsters were among them. He slid his thumb against his teeth and tried not to bite down on skin for any sort of wakeful sensation with half of him asleep. It hung heavy on his face, but he took his notes and went down the alley where Officer Murdoch stood, his bulky arms folded, though most of the crowd dispersed. He swung himself underneath the caution tape. "I'll put my report on your desk," he said. "I'm having Larson gather testimonies. I'll look around the area further in a few hours once I've got everything."

"Stay safe, Eldridge."

Lyon nodded and left Officer Murdoch to deal with the coroner's arrival. No more than a hop, skip and a jump back to the P.D. Up the marble steps, he opened the door and slipped inside. One of the receptionists peeked over the rim of their glasses, but he showed his badge as he walked, shoving it back inside as he went downstairs, and then further until the cold settled on his stomach. Hidden in the storage, he reached the dead-end, where the same shimmer from topside rippled. Half-asleep, he unfurled his palm where a white flame bounced across his fingertips, and he sent it at the wall. It scorched down to the truth, hidden by the lies Norms told themselves. A new door, a vault which opened to his decree. Through it, it closed behind him, and the lights of the Bureau's armory flickered on. Multiple types of weapons hung on the racks. Voices sounded on the other side, and he hesitated from opening the door.

"How are they going to hide this from the Normals?"

That was fast. Lyon opened the door.

Oliver and Holly, twins, twisted on their heels at the sound, celeste blades at their hip. Lyon folded his arms at them. "Didn't anyone ever tell you to not jump to conclusions before getting the answers." Through them and their gossip, he asked, "Is Mistress Joselina in?"

"Lyon!" Holly followed him. "Er, well... I haven't seen her today. Were you up there? Do you know what happened? My pack is saying it's vampires." Her energy pressed into his mind, almost able to see the wolfish fangs in her smile when she lit up.

"It's almost like it's my job. You should use that sniffer of yours to find actual truths instead of gossip. Tell your pack to keep their noses where they belong as well unless they want to find themselves in trouble instead."

Onto the main level, the sterile smell struck his nose first, the familiarity giving him no sense of comfort. Holly pouted while Oliver hovered behind her sister. "You're never any fun. You didn't even say if you'd go out for drinks with me last time we talked."

"I'm busy." Lyon stopped outside the meeting hall, where a map of the city and all points of intensity shone on it, with the greatest confluence the lake itself where the Ashthrone casino held 'court'. In more ways than one. "Aren't you supposed to be on assignment?" With so many lost puppies on his heels, he walked through the hall, straight to his office where his name shone in gold letters when he opened the door. Safely in his rotating chair, he gave it a spin before tucking himself in and sorting through the piled paperwork to make room. He tore out his notes, paperclips at the ready before making a new folder.

"Holly..." Oliver cautioned. "You are supposed to be on assignment in the forest around Ashthrone, along with acting ambassador for the pack..." Her hand gripped her twin's wrist, and Holly looked at her with a frown. "We should leave Lyon be. If what you heard is true—"

"I do have a question for the both of you," Lyon said as the two tried to sneak away to his door with him well-aware of their movements. "Werewolves can't fly, right?"

"Uh... no, as much as that'd be cool," Holly muttered. "Why?"

"You'll see once I get this report done for Mistress Joselina, hm?" Lyon raised both brows at them in dismissal. Once the two were out of his room, he sent an intention for his door, which closed it. Locked in, he got to writing everything he knew, everything he saw, or didn't see. Then I'll need to get that report topside on the victim and then everything from the Coroner's... He put his face in his hands, his eyes starting to close on him again. Just one moment won't hurt—

His phone rang again.

It was Ray, because of course it was.

"Hey," Ray said through static. "It's later!"

"Not later enough, baby brother," he said, and hung up before he could hear Ray's retort at the usage of 'baby' brother.

Duty calls.