The night time streets of Wildhearth lacked the charm of their daytime counterparts. Although she was hardly a stranger to excursions after-dark, Jett couldn't shake the sense of apprehension that the quiet thoroughfare and bare flow of citizens instilled in her. Certain areas still swelled with life – those with bars or brawl pits where the districts citizens could congregate and blow off steam.

They weren't heading to one of those places, however. The warrenary in question was secluded off into what one could generously call the 'posh' part of Palharr. The hard-mud streets were more carefully maintained here, smoothed over with regular attention from city workers, and thick, symmetrical lines of trees shielded the buildings from prying eyes.

Jett's nose twitched with the scent of sap, mingled with incense coiling down from open windows. A rucksack bumped against her back, filled with a small assortment of tools and hacking shunts in case there were any locks that required her special touch. In truth, she had no idea what to expect. If this was all just paranoia and they found the felkin alive and well, she didn't really know what she wanted to say to him. Perhaps the knowledge that she could track him down so easily might galvanise him to speed things up and get her her money.

Tyr loped along beside her, his heavy jacket of cured barkhide concealing a bulky wrench he'd liberated from his repair yard. Neither of them had any real weapons – being obviously armed was an easy way to get yourself carted off to a lawhouse by the watchguards – but the heavy metal tool would be as deadly as a blade in his powerful paws. She could sense the tension in him as they walked; saw the constant flickering of his gaze. He was a stolid, hard-working foxkin and these shadowy games did not come naturally to him.

They passed a handful of other citykin out and about and ambling along comfortably despite the late hour, but none stopped to pay them more than a passing glance. Jett told herself that was probably for the best. She scented the air at regular intervals as she walked, instinctively on the lookout for anything that didn't belong, but so far nothing struck her as out of place. Just the usual night-time odours lingering on the air.

"How much further?" Tyr asked quietly, casting an uneasy glance back over his shoulder. "Should be round the corner at the end," she replied, glancing at the print-plate of the map she'd run off before the left her workshop. "It's got a little private side street. Very swish."

Conflicted feelings churned in her as she tried to decide whether she was angry with him or not. There had been no talking him out of accompanying her – once Tyr put his mind to something you'd have more luck stopping a tidal wave – but she didn't like the idea that he could be dragged into a situation with so many dangerous unknowns because of her.

In the end she kept any misgivings to herself. He was here, and she'd have been lying if she claimed not to feel reassured by his presence. The two foxkin carried on towards end of the street, moving as quietly and naturally as possible, keeping an eye out for anything untoward.

Jett felt her hackles rise and her tail curl with a quartet of slender figures emerged from around the bend ahead of them, right between them and their destination. For a moment she feared the worst, her mind flashing to the wolfkin, but as she examined the shapes those worries melted away. At least a little.

Too slim for wolves. As they stepped into the light Jett realised the four figures coming towards them were felkin, but these bore little resemblance to her employer. Two males swaggered along, clad in ragged kilts and sleeveless woven jackets that hung open, revealing scrawny chests and dark fur. With them a pair of scantly females prowled along, flimsy body-wraps and short, tight kilts accentuating slim waists and lithe limbs. One of them had a long waterfall of flame-red headfur cascading down her shoulders – the other had her dark locks coiled into an elaborate braid.

"Terrific," Tyr murmured. "You think they've got anything to do with your friend?"

"I doubt it," Jett whispered back, not breaking stride as the two groups approached. "They're just gangers out for a good time. Keep walking."

She could see out of the corner of her eye the shift in his grip beneath the jacket. Preparing for the worst. Jett braced herself, just in case it came to that. Palharr was home to a number of loosely associated felkin gangs that were mostly harmless if you could avoid them. Hedonistic party goers and drug runners, their main goal always seemed to be to have a good time. They only became violent if someone stood in the way of that goal.

As they passed, the one who looked like the leader opened his mouth to speak. As he did, Tyr very deliberately pulled back his jacket, showing one paw wresting on the wrench. The felkin's eyes followed the motion; saw the weapon.

His mouth closed. His arm coiled around the shoulders of the female walking beside him and he gave a tiny shake of the head. One of the others let out a low meow of disappointment, but the four of them kept walking. They passed in the night, firing a salvo of sidelong glances back and forth for that brief instant.

Then they were gone. The felkin gang receded into the night and Jett tried to refocus her mind on the task at hand, on the data drive and their missing buyer, and on the promised payday she so desperately sought.

They continued on down the avenue, and thankfully no more surprises jumped out at them. They reached the corner of the leafy street to find a narrow path leading down to the warrenary itself, resting in a circular depression off to the side of the main road.

It looked like a giant acorn at a glance, with a bulging disc of a roof that tapered down towards ground level. Supporting struts of metal and kiln-hardened ceramics speared out from that lower section like spokes on a wheel, and Jett could see a dozen coiling rampways that wound down into the sprawling lower level. It was a den of a structure, constructed mainly for kin who wanted to keep their paws on the ground. Golden light spilled from its windows and large lamps illuminated the pale brown of the outer brickwork.

"Like you said, very swish." Tyr glanced at her. "What's the plan?"

"Check with reception, I guess." She flashed him a smile, bumped a shoulder to his and padded off towards the entrance.

He followed a pace behind on her left, watching her back and constantly searching for anything that didn't belong. Jett could feel the unease beginning to radiate from her mate like a physical thing. Tyr wasn't overly protective in their day to day lives, trusting her to run her business without any input from him, but this was different. He didn't like it, and she couldn't blame him.

They passed through a double door and entered the low-ceilinged foyer of the warrenary. A male foxkin with fur like fire and clad in sleek black leaned at the reception desk, a howl-net receiver pressed lazily to one ear. He raised a claws they approached.

"Yes. Yes. Absolutely – dawntwo. I'll be sure someone is up to wake you." The foxkin's face pinched with exasperation; she could just about hear the tinny voice of whatever guest he was speaking to as they replied. He cast them an apologetic glance. "I assure you, we'll make certain you don't miss the morning tram. Yes... yes, thank you. Goodnight." With a huff he locked the receiver back into the howlwire rig and face them, his expression brightening on cue.

"Hello, welcome to The Arventia," he beamed. "How can I help? We have some lovely double rooms available for the night if you're looking-,"
"We're just out here trying to find a friend," Tyr grunted, leaning an elbow on the desk.

Jett shot him a disapproving glance before addressing the receptionist. "I work out of Palharr – computer and tech repairs. One of your guests had me doing some work for him but he's fallen out of contact I'm afraid. He gave me this address when he booked the job though, so I thought I would pop by."

"Ah, I see." The foxkin's face lost some of its forced enthusiasm now that he knew he didn't need to keep overselling the rooms on offer. He reached for a thick folder of bark-paper. "And his name is?"

"I'm sorry, but he never gave his name." Jett shrugged apologetically. "Some people pay extra for a bit of... discretion, if you see what I mean."

"Ah, yes I..." He let out a nervous chuckle. "I think I understand you. Did you have a room number?"

"Sorry, no. But he's a felkin from the Silk – he would stand out a mile off in Palharr. Black fur, blue robes? He was very anxious to get the work done quickly and now I can't reach him. I'm afraid I'm a little worried about him."

"Oh." The receptionist frowned, then flicked open the folder, his blue eyes scouring down the page. "Give me a moment."

He stepped away, picking up the howl-net receiver again and punching in a quick code – too short to be anything long distance, and easy enough for Jett to memorise. She assumed it must've been the warrenary's internal network and instantly her eyes flickered to the bark-paper pages that he'd left open. Upside down the black, blocky letters were a little awkward to read, but she could see only one line that corresponded to the code the receptionist had just used. Room U-114. She touched Tyr's arm; mouthed got the room number. He looked at her for a moment then glanced at the folder. His eyes brightened in realisation and he nodded.

The foxkin waited for several seconds listening at the howlwire, but eventually his brow furrowed and he put the receiver back uneasily. "I'm sorry, I believe I know the guest in question but he is not answering his howlwire."

"Can you tell us which room?"

"I... I'm afraid I'm not really supposed to give out that information. If you leave a message with me I'll be sure to pass it along." He gestured to a series of couches and chairs that littered one corner of the foyer. "Of course, you're welcome to wait for a little while. If he is not in his room now I would imagine he'll be getting back soon, given the hour."

"Oh, don't worry about it." She smiled sweetly. "Thanks for your help anyway."

"Hey, it's pretty late," Tyr said, slipping an arm around her waist and tugging her close. "I'm not sure I fancy trekking back across the district tonight." He looked beseechingly at the receptionist. "You think we could get a room?"

The other foxkin's face brightened again and he nodded enthusiastically, heaving free a different folder and flicking through it. Jett wondered just what in hellfangs her mate was playing at, but she couldn't say anything without looking more suspicious than they already did.

She physically winced as Tyr handed over full five coppers for a single night's stay. To her surprise, he effortlessly reeled off a fake name, whereupon the receptionist happily handed over a blank scent key. The little rectangular block bleeped as Tyr turned it on, the machine temporarily locking itself to his musk. Thanking their host, he took her paw in his and ambled off happily towards the innards of the warrenary.

"What in fangs are you playing at?!" Jett hissed as soon as they were out of earshot. "I didn't come out here for us to fool around, Tyr!"
"Will you get your head out of the gutter," he laughed, giving her waist an affectionate squeeze. "You got the room number right?"

"Right...?"

"Well, we can't exactly go wandering around this place if we're not guests, can we?"

"Huh. I guess not." Jett blinked. She'd been planning to wait and sneak past the receptionist when the opportunity. They were several stamps lighter, but Tyr's solution certainly jumped a lot of obstacles.

"Not everything needs to be smoke and mirrors," he chuckled.

"Oh, shut up." She slapped a playful paw against his chest, turning her head and nuzzling against his cheek for a moment. "Let's just find him and get out of here."

Room U-114 was located in the underground sprawl of the warrenary. They made their way down broad, sloping corridors with electric lights that illuminated walls of earth-coloured ceramic. Decorative engravings hung at regular intervals, etched in sheets of brass and copper, polished to a gleam. Skylights revealed glimpses of the night mingled with the ever-present glow of Wildhearth.

Very swish, indeed.

They twisted and cursed their way through a few wrong turns in the spiralling passages, but eventually they found the correct block of rooms, following signs and working their way long the 'U' passages. They passed a couple of other guests at the late hour, but no-one paid much attention to the foxkin couple as they wandered along paw in paw.

Turning onto a looping right rampway they found themselves in the hall that, according to the sign, they would find rooms U-100 to U-130. She exchanged a dubious look with Tyr and gently their paws fell apart as they walked.

The doors were arranged in a zig-zag pattern with odds on one side and evens on the other, dark, hard-panelled structures of smooth wood with silver numbers painted into them. The antique décor belied the tech that was wired here – each door sported a heavy duty scent key lock that would deter all but the most determined thieves.

Jett, however, was a most determined individual, and these scent locks would barely slow her down. She scented the air, searching for anything that didn't belong, but all she smelled was the faint swirl of incense that had been used to fragrance the halls, eradicating traces of anyone who might have passed this way recently.

As they drew towards the door of room U-114 she instinctively slowed her pace, gesturing for Tyr to do the same. They edged silently up the passage, slipping to either side of the doorway. Jett narrowed her eyes, examining the scent lock. It was fully engaged. Maybe the felkin really wasn't here?

"Jett." Tyr's voice was little more than a breath, but loud enough for her sharp ears to hear and she looked at him. He was pointing to the carpeted floor and when she looked down she saw the series of claw like ruts in the fabric. She cocked her head to one side, staring at them.

"Looks like felkin," Tyr breathed again. "Right size and spread."

Jett nodded. With aching slowness she eased her pack off, resting it on the floor and slipping a paw inside. Being careful not to let any of the other equipment clank around, she extracted her spoofer module from the bag before slipping it back onto her shoulders. The spoofer outwardly resembled the scent keys, but operated in a more leech-like manner. Being inserted into any standard lock it could gather up the residual scent used to key the lock and replicate it, assuming the door had been opened recently.

Taking a deep breath, she slid the spoofer into the rectangular slot of the lock and pressed its activation switch. The machine's simple processor whirred to life, a row of red lights blinking on its outer-facing panel. She held her breath. Beside her Tyr eased the wrench from its hiding place within his jacket, letting the hefty tool hand easily in one work-scarred paw.

After a moment the lights on the spoofer switched from red to green – it had gathered enough scent for a viable replication. Jett pressed another button on the outer case to action the final stage of the process.

With a click, and push of Jett's paw, the door swung open.

What she saw inside turned her insides to water. Her eyes went wide and she recoiled from the threshold, struggling to quite believe what she was staring at. Three dark-furred and dark armoured figures whirled to face her, lips drawing back into fanged snarls of challenge, golden eyes blazing. A scent that set ice in her veins washed over Jett.

Wolfkin.