She whipped her head around at the knock, eyes wide as panic surged through her like an electric shock. After an instant of hesitation, she sprang up out of the chair and leapt nimbly over to where her gear lay in a heap. Her paws plunged into the bag, whipping her flashgun free. Who in fangs would be knocking on her door here if not the landlord? And why the landlord? She'd barely been here two days, and the quillkin had a full month of rent already deposited in her coffers.

Jett's claw curled around the trigger, and she stepped towards the door. Confirming her presence didn't seem like a good idea, but staying silent risked letting the interloper know they could enter the room with impunity. The third option made her more scared than either of those, but she did it anyway. If the knocker was one of the wolfkin hunters, the best thing she could do was strike first. She padded silently towards the door and stopped, her fur prickling all over.

With every muscle in her body coiled and ready to spring, Jett reached forward with her free paw. Behind her back, one claw curled around the trigger of the flashgun in readiness. Steeling herself, she overcame that last little kernel of fear and wrenched the door open, stepping back as she did to avoid any attempt to grab her.

She whipped the flashgun around and half raised it before she saw who was standing at the door, and her jaw dropped open in disbelief. In the doorway stood a towering, heavy-framed vulkin, his fur jet black with patches of light brown. He wore a baggy, grey body wrap that left his brawny arms bare and a jet black longkilt. Big, clawed footpaws jutted out from beneath it, curling uncomfortably as he looked at her.

"Bronco?!" she exclaimed.

"Hi."

"What did...how did you find me?"

"I got a nose for trouble, Jett," he told her, shrugging. He nodded down at the flashgun. "You gonna invite me in, or you gonna blast me blind with that toy?"

She blinked; let the barrel of the flashgun drop. For a moment, she didn't quite know what to do, but in the end, she took a step back and waved him inside, confusion fizzing in her mind. She kicked the door shut behind him, staring as he passed by, his head slowly swinging from left to right as he examined the room. He paused as the turret-like track of his skull snagged on the computer.

"Not wasting any time, are you?"

"Why are you here, Bronco?" Jett snapped sharply, her surprise quickly evaporating. "And how in the Peace and Fire did you find me?"

"Cos I know you." He shrugged again as he turned to face her. "I'm here...I'm here because I want to get your side of...whatever happened in my district." Bronco looked her in the eye, his earnest features crumpling with unease. "We've been ordered to bring you back to the lawhouse for questioning."

Jett's grip tightened on the flashgun. "By whom?"

"Just hold on." He raised a paw, his eyes catching the reflexive motion. "I'm not going to take you anywhere you don't want to go, Jett, I promise you. I just want to talk to you. Things are a mess back home, and I've got a dozen people breathing down my neck for answers."

"Sorry, Bronco, but that's not my problem," she said flatly. "I didn't kill anybody, and apparently, you're off chasing felkin, so the real killers have gotten away with everything. Case closed as far as I'm concerned."

He bristled but took a breath. "Can we go ...outside? Just round the corner for a muskbrew. My treat."

"I can buy my own drinks."

"Damn it, Jett!" he growled suddenly, making her recoil in surprise. "I know how you must feel about your folks, but this isn't just about you! All I want to do is talk. Is that really too much to ask?"

Jett cocked her head to one side, appraising him for a moment. She'd known Bronco for a long time—it took a lot to get under that thick skin of his. Besides, subterfuge wasn't his style. If he wanted to arrest her, he would have done it by now. It's not as though she could stop him—Bronco towered over her by a head and a half, and she doubted a flash gun would slow the vulkin down. She also belatedly realised he wasn't in his uniform. Whatever he wanted, Bronco was doing it on his own time.

After holding his stare for several interminably long seconds, Jett's expression softened, and she nodded, gently placing the flashgun down on the bed.

"Okay," she said quietly. "Okay, we'll go."

His shoulders sagged with relief. "Good. Thanks. I'm just trying to piece this mess together."

"You and me both." Not waiting for a reply, Jett picked up her jacket. "C'mon, there's a place around the corner. It's usually pretty busy—we can talk there."

"Lead on." Bronco stepped aside, sweeping a brawny arm towards the door.

Jett gave him a pitying look and shook her head. "You first until we're through the foyer."

He shrugged and ambled out the door, turning and spreading his paws. "Okay?"

She nodded and scampered back over to her rig, claws dancing over heavy keys as she put the machine into sleep mode with a host of hastily erected firewalls protecting her investigations. This done, she swept up her longclaw and tucked it into its sheath against the small of her back, concealing it beneath her jacket once more before striding from the room.

With Bronco trudging along in front of her, Jett made her way down to the foyer, and the pair did not go unnoticed by the ever-watchful Hiyfa at the reception desk. The quillkin threw her a mischievous wave, earning a scowl in response before Jett hustled her vulkin chaperone out the door.

Once out into the noonday sun, she took the lead, beckoning him to follow closely as she picked her way through the packed district crowds. The shops and cafes bristled with life at the zenith of the day, but Bronco's big frame cut them a clear path as she directed him. With a paw on his thick slab of a back, she guided the vulkin guard until they found the cafe in question. A number of circular tables sprawled out in front of the varnished wood shopfront, with spacious, generously cushioned chairs flanking them.

She singled out a table near the edge of the arrangement, close enough to others that the noise would swallow them up but not so close that they would be overheard. She slid into place opposite Bronco, almost vanishing into the cushion pile before she righted herself. A petite deerkin waitress arrived seconds later to take their order, and the pair sat in the swirl of Wildhearth life for a long, awkward moment as they waited for their drinks.

The deerkin returned with two steaming mugs, depositing them on the table with a winning smile before skipping off to her next table and leaving the two companions with a simmer of unspoken questions rattling between them.

With a mug of spiced muskbrew in paw, Bronco leaned back into his seat with a heavy sigh and looked her in the eye.

"Alright, let's have it."

"You're not going to like it."

"I already don't like it." He took a slug of his drink and nodded to her. "The wolfkin are on the warpath looking for you, and I've got people throwing different stories at me from all angles, so all I need is for you to tell me the truth."

"Bronco, I've lied about a lot of things in my life, but I am not lying about this. I swear it."

"Then just...speak your piece."

So she told him. She told him what she'd found about the felkin Designate and about his post within the city's government. And this time, she spared no detail over the events that had transpired that fateful night when he'd walked into her workshop. She told Bronco every word that had passed between them. And she told him exactly what had happened at the warrenary, including Tyr's death that had her choking back a fresh surge of tears.

"They are trying to cover something up," she continued, forcing herself to keep talking. "About the government, or about themselves. Whatever was on that block drive, they killed Zanzihar, they killed Tyr, and they tried to kill me."

"There's too much we can't verify," Bronco said heavily, shaking his head. "Jett, we still haven't found Tyr. I went to that warrenary myself. There's no trace of wolfkin, Tyr, or anybody else."

Her gut twisted with fury at the thought of the wolfkin disposing of her mate's body in some dark recess of the city. He had deserved better, a lot better. She felt her lip curling into an involuntary snarl as she began to bare her teeth. With an effort, Jett suppressed the feeling, pushing it to the back of her mind to grapple with another day.

"And are you seriously telling me they couldn't cover something like that up?" she persisted, her paw tightening around the handle of her mug. "If I'm supposed to believe this line you're punting about felkin drug gangs on a rampage, then why are there wolfkin even in the district? Why are they trying to take custody of me? Why don't they just leave you to it?"

"Zanzihar was a Designate. They are technically a branch of Conclave security, so it does come under their jurisdiction if they want it."

"They were already in the district before that body turned up, and you know it. Come on, Bronco, when was the last time the wolfkin looked into an actual crime anywhere outside the Silk? Don't talk to me about jurisdiction. I don't believe that, and neither do you."

Bronco's features crumpled with discomfort. "They're the right paw of the government, Jett. They don't answer to you or me."

"They will," she hissed, a lump rising in her throat as the butchered bodies of her family flickered in her vision. "They are hiding something. I don't know what, and I don't know why, but whatever it is, I'm going to find it. I'm going to make them regret the day they dragged me into this."

He looked at her sharply, warning in his eyes.

A sick sensation settled in the base of her stomach. She took a shuddering breath, blinking back tears that threatened to spill over her and swallowing down a mouthful of scalding muskbrew to quell the sensation. She sat there, eyes boring into the table for a long moment, the air filled with the hum and bustle of the cafe.

When she met his gaze again, Bronco had a perplexed frown on his face, like a particularly confused cub trying to spell a difficult word. The mug of muskbrew slid idly back and forth in his massive paws. Eventually, he lifted it and took a sip.

"Well, your story's not getting any easier to swallow," he said quietly. "What a mess."

"You asked."

"And you really didn't look at what was on that block drive?"

"I really didn't."

"So you really have no idea why these wolfkin would be trying to bring you in?"

"None."

With a heavy sigh, he leaned his elbows on the table, shaking his slab-like head back and forth. "You understand how insane this sounds, don't you?"

"No more insane than believing a bunch of felkin smugglers killed my family," she shot back sharply.

"Jett..."

"I know exactly how it sounds, Bronco, but why would I lie? What could I possibly get out of it?"

He nodded slowly, his lethargic reaction starting to put her on edge. Had she made a mistake coming out here with him? The muskbrew turned back and forth in his grip, steam rippling up to shroud his features, and she saw his muzzle twitch.

"Bronco..."

"You know," he began, an edge of unease creeping into his voice, "the felkin are the official line, but there are people who have different ideas, ideas they're not making common knowledge."

"Like what?"

"Some of the Pack Commanders are looking at you."

Jett blinked. "You...what?"

"It didn't look good. A felkin Designate and your whole family dead, and you wouldn't even speak to me! Then you were stupid enough to run from the lawhouse."

"I ran because they'd have killed me if I didn't!"

"Fangs and fire, Jett! What did you expect people to think when you did that? Officially they are blaming the bootleggers, but there are people in our district—in my lawhouse—that think you did all this to cover something up."

Jett's paws clenched as she glared at him. "What would that possibly be?"

"You tell me."

"How long have you known me, Bronco? Do you honestly believe I would do something like this?"

He stiffened at that, his head rising, and he met her gaze. For the first time since she'd known him, Jett felt a sense of intensity radiating from the vulkin as he examined her, as though searching for signs of her guilt in her very soul. Her claws dug into the tabletop as she held his stare, waiting and resisting the urge to go for her knife. He kept that stare on her for what felt like minutes, even as he raised his mug and took another sip. With steam swirling around his muzzle, he lowered it again, not breaking eye contact.

"I don't know what to think," Bronco said eventually, sinking back into his seat and depositing the muskbrew on the table, finally blinking and letting his eyes flicker back to normality. "But I do know you. I don't think you killed anybody. Something about this stinks. I've worked our district for eight years, and I've never seen a felkin gang do something like this. It's not their style. Now I've got a dead Designate, multiple murders, and wolfkin snapping at my tail looking for answers." He looked pointedly at her. "But you should know every guard pack in the district is looking for you. It won't be long before they start expanding the search to neighbouring districts—it's a hunt, Jett. They want us to bring you in for questioning by the enforcers."

"You do that, and I'll be dead by sundown."

"I told you I'm not taking you anywhere you don't want to go," he replied.

It felt like an anvil had been lifted from her chest. "Why not?"

"I needed to speak to you. I needed to look you in the eye and hear it from you. As far as dragging you kicking and screaming back to the lawhouse..." He shook his head uneasily. "I don't want to do anything I might regret."

"Then...thanks," she told him, the tension slowing out of her paws as she wrapped them back around the warm mug. And she managed a smile.

Bronco shrugged. "Like I said, I gotta nose for trouble. Somehow, you're not the one I'm worried about."

She nodded, thanking her lucky stars. Over the years, she'd questioned the wisdom of keeping close with one of the local law enforcement, but it was paying dividends now. The rapport she'd built with Bronco over that time might just have saved her life. She curled up onto the seat, tucking her footpaws and tail around her and nestling into the cushions, sipping at her muskbrew as they lapsed into silence.

They sat there, pretending to be normal for a few more minutes as they finished their drinks. Jett's eyes scanned the passing kin, ears pricking as she saw the occasional wolfkin citizen going about their business. The sight of them made her hackles rise and fur stand up, but she willed herself to stay seated. If she flew into the Fire every time she saw one of them, she'd never survive long enough to get to the bottom of any of this.

Bronco drained the last of his mug and stood up, fishing a small pile of barkstamps from his longkilt and scattering them across the table.

"That oughta cover you."

"Thanks, Bronco."

He smiled thinly. "Keep yourself in one piece, alright? I don't know what mess you've gotten hauled into, but I'll get to the bottom of it. Just...just don't do anything stupid, eh?"

"Would I ever?"

"I might if I were in your skin."

Jett laughed at that, patting the paw on her shoulder affectionately. "Good luck, Bronco. And thank you for believing me. I mean it."

He looked a little sheepish at her forthrightness and shrugged. His paw fell from her shoulder, and he turned for the tram carrier. "I'll be in touch."

"Stay safe!" she called after him as his towering frame was swallowed up into the flow of citykin.

Then she was alone, again.