News cameras flashed at the White House, blue-and-red lights illuminating the lawn as police personnel taped off the entrance. A sleek black Aston Martin pulled up to the entrance, headlights dimming in the dark. Victor, at the wheel, shifted into park and checked his watch.

"Late to the party," he said, turning to rest his arm across the head of Desmond's seat beside him. In the back, Ezra was shaking out his pockets for spare cigarettes and a lighter and Freddy was fumbling with his backwards tie. "Do at least pretend to be presentable. We're supposed to be professionals."

Ezra, Desmond, and Freddy flashed matching thumbs-up. Rolling his eyes, Victor got out of the car, smoothing the sleeves of his suit and checking his pager as they waited to be let in by White House staff. His FBI-MCIA badge was more than enough proof that the four of them were to be allowed inside.

"Oh, and don't forget the names thing," he muttered to the boys, sliding on sunglasses. He couldn't see a damn thing through them at this hour, but there were people everywhere and there was no other plausible way to conceal his face. On the bright side, it would be sunrise sooner than later. "Sparrow, remind me of the details, again?"

Freddy cleared his throat, producing a small flashlight and a case file from his blazer as he swung a briefcase in the other. "No body this time. Unsuccessful assassination attempt on the first son during the night," he explained, blond hair glinting blue as the siren of several patrol cars on the lawn whirled. They had to duck quickly out of sight from the flashing cameras of hungry news crews surging across the fence, out for their next big break. A crime scene was paper-worthy enough—bringing the MCIA into it made the buzz all the worse. Freddy lowered his voice and held up the file folder to shield his face from a nearby camerawoman. "They called the boss immediately for something this serious."

Desmond downed the last of his coffee and tossed it in a trash bag being carried out by a man in a vest labeled EVIDENCE. "Mag' involved, though, right?"

"Apparently they think so. President Warner is shaken up about it."

Ezra made a face. "A mage wouldn't fail an assassination attempt on some kid."

Freddy shrugged. "Maybe he's a bad assassin?" he suggested.

"The kid's a mage, too," Victor reminded them, and their mouths formed Os.

They were finally escorted through the entrance of the executive residence building by several uniformed staff and directed up the stairs and down the hall to the crime scene in question. The interior of the White House was fully illuminated, enough so that you could almost forget it was pitch-black outside, and outfitted with the kind of old-fashioned luxury that was either tasteful or reminded Victor terribly of his mother's house. It was crowded with frantic chatter and bustling bodies, but no dead. Really quite dull for an assassination scene. Somewhere, a phone was incessantly ringing.

"By God, won't someone pick up the phone?" a familiar voice shouted, and Victor's eyes slid to his partners. The president of the United States was in the flesh.

"Right through here, sir," someone told him, and Victor nodded, easing open the door to what had to be one of the family bedrooms.

An officer stopped him at the caution tape, only letting him through once he saw his badge. "Agent Bridge," Victor told the room. The president spun, clutching at the back of his head. "I'm here with Squad Zero from the MCIA. We were notified of a non-human-related case?"

"Yes, yes..." the president breathed. "Thank God you're here."

"Might we look around a while?"

"Of course, of course." Victor spotted a small inscription inked on his finger right before he snapped it, and a cup of coffee flew across the room and into his hand. It wasn't an easy thing to forget that the president was a half-mag', but it was still jarring, in person. "I'll get out of your hair. Sharon—where did she get off to?"

"Your wife went to call the hospital again," said a secretary.

Warner tore a hand through his thinning and graying hair. "Right. Right."

Ezra darted glances between Victor and the president and the woman. "Is the boy hospitalized?"

"He should be fine, he's fine—"

Victor nudged Freddy. "Sparrow, find out who was the first deputy on scene and ask him for the details on our victim. If we have to, we'll visit the hospital and find out what his condition is. Ask if he's got claw marks, venom..."

"On it."

"Alright, let's sweep the room. Des, check baseboards, vents, and outlets for any blood or traces. Evidence collection likely missed something."

Desmond pointed to himself. "Me? Or..." Ezra also pointed to himself, then at Desmond, then back again.

Victor sighed. "The names thing, guys."

"Ah. Right. The names thing." Desmond nodded self-assuredly, and then elbowed Ezra. "Vents, Desperado."

Ezra stuck out his tongue, entirely ignoring Victor's previous advice about being professional, and disappeared with a flashlight. Others were shuffling out of the room to make way for them, quickly leaving them alone. Desmond followed Victor as he circled the room and examined the scene. Kneeling beside the bed, Victor motioned for Desmond to hand him something.

"Hey, you got gloves?"

"Yeah, hang on." Desmond shook a plastic bag from his pocket and unzipped it.

Victor glared. "You are not stuffing those in your pocket."

"Freddy has all the rest of our shit!" He squinted. "What are you even looking at?"

"We've been over this. You need glasses."

"I most definitely do not. I passed the eye exam."

"The eye exam in training was seven years ago."

"So? I passed it then, I could pass now."

Sighing, Victor snapped on latex gloves and crouched lower to reach beneath the bedframe. He plucked a thin black fiber from the carpet and held it up.

Desmond glanced at him uneasily. "That's not... a feather, is it?"

Victor spun it in his fingers, bringing it closer to his nose. They'd been trained to identify varying classifications of scales and feathers and talons and eyes at a moment's notice, and a hypothesis formed immediately. "Part of a feather. Griffin is my guess but I can't be sure. We'll send it to the lab."

Desmond lowered his tone. "There's no griffins in America, Vic."

He didn't even bother to correct him on the name. "I know."

"Could be just... a bird," Desmond added hopefully.

"Yeah, right. A bird in his room. On the day the son of the president almost gets assassinated."

"I see how that sounds stupid when you say it out loud."

Ezra straightened from the opposite side of the room, plucking his cigarette from his mouth and sliding a hand into his pocket. "Hey, you think this kid fancies birds? A little feathery in here."

Victor glanced sideways at Desmond, who frowned. Rising to a standing position, Victor made a slow walk to the center of the room. "Let's jump to conclusions," he mused aloud. "Say there was a griffin here tonight. How would a bird-lion hybrid get in and out of the White House without being seen?"

Ezra puffed a ring of smoke and inclined his head. "If he had help."

Victor spun on his heels, considering it. That was when Freddy came back in, pen in his teeth.

"Here's what I got from the deputy," he told the others, shutting the door behind him. "The victim was asleep or in bed at approximately ten-thirty P.M. He was woken around midnight by a thumping at the window. He's apparently a light sleeper."

Victor turned curiously to the window, which appeared undisturbed.

"His bodyguards investigated but found nothing wrong, so they stood back outside the door like normal. Well, twenty minutes later, he still can't sleep. He gets up, remembers he forgot to lock back the window. So he gets up to lock it, and someone—or something—attacks him from behind. He obtained sixteen lacerations to the neck and face and some bruising from attempted strangulation but was somehow able to hold off the would-be assassin long enough for the Secret Service to shoot. The assassin disappeared through the window, naturally."

Desmond's eyebrows shot up. "Sixteen, damn. Tough kid."

"Do we have a description on the perp?" Victor asked, folding his arms.

Freddy pointed to him with the pen. "I didn't get that from the deputy, but we will soon. The Secret Service members involved were sent to the local station to give statements."

Ezra held up a hand. "Wait, wait, wait. None of this answers the real question." When everyone turned to him, he added, "Why would anyone want to assassinate the president's son?"

The weight of that sunk in. The president himself slept right across the hall. Valuable secrets lied in the east and west buildings. In purely political terms, the first son was virtually worthless.

Unless he wasn't.

***

Within the hour, Squad Zero sat alone in a meeting room facing the president, who kept wringing his hands nervously.

Just when everyone was beginning to grow impatient, Warner finally spoke up, voice trembling. "There's something I need to tell you. It's—it's the real reason I requested you on the case, Agents. This is highly confidential information, and you cannot speak of this with anyone outside your team."

Victor lifted his eyebrows. "And what's that?"

"It's my son," President Warner admitted. "He's not who everyone thinks he is."

━━ ⬫ ❪ ❖ ❫ ⬫ ━━

A/N: so yeah I wrote a thing!! I didn't intend to write anything for this so fast, but I have temporary LD writer's block and I've been feeling inspired & kinda in the quimbyverse headspace (and I've been writing a lot of TQH but that doesn't give the same dopamine hit since no one reads it rn but me) - so here we are! enjoy vic, des, ezra (the other des), and freddy! u don't get to meet our boy until the story starts, partially for suspense and partially bc his form isn't in yet lol. I hope the crime scene aftermath isn't too lame, but a crime scene with no robbery and no dead body really isn't that cool. I am very excited for this :)