The dawn over Sparkhold was a pale thing, muted and hazy, as though the city itself preferred to stay in bed. Thin beams of light crept between the towers, spilling across cobblestones still damp from the night air. Residents yawned their way to shutters and windows, only to freeze at the sight below.

An odd procession moved down the waking streets. At its head padded a wolf so large he might've been mistaken for a small horse, his fur silvered with dew, each step purposeful as he lowered his muzzle to the ground. Behind him came a mismatched company: a hulking man with arms like tree trunks, his accent carried even in the way he muttered to himself; a gray-bearded elder with worry carved into every wrinkle of his face; a wolven man whose clawed hands twitched ready to grab the blade on his back; and last of all, a creature whose shadow alone was enough to empty a street- A phytonid, her chitinous legs clicking softly as her mantis-claws arched over her back like scythes poised for harvest.

The people of Sparkhold whispered and drew curtains. The group didn't spare them a glance.

Mishka led them unerringly, nose pressed low, paws thudding against the stone. The wolf paused only to cast a look over his shoulder, golden eyes gleaming in the early light as if to check if the pack is keeping up? Then he turned sharply into a narrow alley.

Boriss followed without hesitation, boots grinding grit beneath him. "He has scent. Is good," the big man rumbled.

Myers rushed behind, holding his cane tighter than usual. His jaw worked, teeth grinding in frustration. He said nothing, but the way his eyes flicked from shadow to shadow made his worry plain enough.

The alley swallowed them. Crates leaned like drunkards against the walls, and water dripped from some unseen pipe above. Mishka prowled deeper, nose working furiously, his tail stiff as a spear. Then he sneezed.

The sound echoed off the stone. The wolf shook his head, ears flat, and circled twice. He yawned once, twice, then sat heavily, chest heaving. His nose wrinkled in irritation.

"Comrade Mishka says smell ends here." Boriss squatted beside him, patting the wolf's flank as if to steady him. His broad hand traced the ground, feeling for something the eyes could not.

"What do you mean it ends here?" Myers demanded. His voice cracked, too sharp for the quiet alley. The old man's eyes scanned the stones, desperate for a door, a grate, anything. "They were here. They had to have gone somewhere!"

"Smell is gone. Poof. Disappear," Boriss said with finality, spreading his hands.

"That's impossible." Myers' voice trembled, fury born of fear. "Quasi doesn't just vanish. And Clay-" his throat worked, the word caught like a thorn.

Yuto dropped low to the ground, his claws scraping faint lines as he leaned in close, nostrils flaring. His lupine ears twitched as he drew in a breath, then another. The scent was faint, slippery, but it was there. Quasi. Clay. And something else. His lip curled. A bitter tang coated his tongue. He yawned, sharp teeth flashing, then shook his head to clear the fog.

"There's another layer," Yuto growled. "A drug, maybe. Strong enough to dull scent… and sleep."

Nepenthes glided forward, her many limbs shifting with insect precision. She crouched, one claw scraping across the stones with a grating shriek. The shard of stone lifted to her mouth, where her tongue brushed delicately. Her eyes, all of them, half-lidded in thought.

"There is residue," she confirmed calmly, her voice like silk wrapped around knives. "A concentrated sedative. Aerosolized. Potent. Fast-acting. Clever work-it carries no odor once dispersed." She straightened, mandibles flexing slightly before going still. "They were put under quickly."

Myers' shoulders sagged, his knuckles white around the head of his cane. "So they were taken. Drugged." His voice cracked. "But Quasi… he should be immune to poison."

"In his Fenrimorph state, yes," Nepenthes said, unblinking. "But as a feline… his biology is far less adaptive."

Boriss grunted, pointing at the stones. "Scratches here. Deep. Strange cuts. Not claws, not blade." He rubbed a thumb across one groove, lifting it to the light as if the answer clung there.

They all gathered, peering at the marks gouged into the cobbles. The lines radiated inward, as if something had collapsed or bound itself there. Magic, strong and precise.

"Can we trace it?" Myers asked, his voice fraying. "The poison, the spell-anything?"

"Not by scent," Nepenthes replied. Her eyes shimmered, irises rotating through shades: blue, violet, amber, until they settled in a pale green glow. She swept her gaze across the alley, scanning stone, brick, and shadow with alien detachment. "The sedative dispersed from above. The walls bear trace amounts. Whoever did this blanketed the alley."

Her claws shifted, pointing. "Multiple feet, humanoid. Too many for just one or two. They carried Quasi and Clay. Their tracks converge… here."

The group rushed where she indicated, boots and claws scraping across stone. The ground bore clear depressions — and then nothing. The prints simply ended. No ladder. No open grate. No trail to follow.

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"Carriage," Myers spat, the word like bile. He slammed his cane down. "They were loaded onto a carriage. Damn it all! We'll need to hire a [Bounty Hunter]. Immediately."

"Is not need," Boriss said with sudden cheer, teeth flashing in a grin. He strode a few steps further, crouching over something in the dirt.

The others joined him. Myers leaned close, then recoiled with a grimace.

There, steaming faintly in the morning chill, lay a turd the size of a man's fist. Fresh. Very fresh.

Boriss clapped his hands together. "Da? Trail is not gone."

______________________________________________________

Clay woke with a jolt, her head pounding, her vision swimming. The cold bite of iron bars pressed against her cheek, and when she blinked the blur away, the first thing she saw was Quasi sprawled lazily across the cramped cage, tail flicking against the bars like an impatient metronome.

"Ah, the sleeping beauty finally awakens," the cat purred, stretching with exaggerated languor. "You've missed quite the evening. There was the ambush, the choking smoke, a delightful nap courtesy of our gracious hosts, and now, ta-da!, we're honored guests in the island's least reputable basement. I rate the accommodations three fleas out of five."

Clay groaned and pushed herself upright, clutching her aching skull. "What… happened?"

Quasi rolled onto his back, paws in the air, voice dripping with mock drama. "Picture this: me, heroically fending off legions of fiendish brutes with my unmatched wit and devastating good looks. You, slumbering like a babe, utterly defenseless, forced into my care. Then-betrayal! Treachery! Drugs that even I couldn't sniff out. And now here we are, caged like common poultry. It's tragic, really. You should be honored to share this fate with me."

Clay frowned, brushing dirt from her tunic. "My necklace…" Her hand shot to her collarbone and froze. Empty. Bare skin where the chain had always rested. Her eyes widened in panic. "It's gone!"

Quasi rolled upright in a flash, ears twitching. His smug grin softened just a little. "Yes, yes, the shiny trinket. Don't worry. A minor setback. I'll get it back for you. Consider it already unstolen."

She bit her lip, panic edging into her voice. "Did you… did you find out?"

Quasi gave her a look that was equal parts smug and knowing, his tail curling smugly around his paws. "Clay, Clay, Clay. I've known from the start you were a girl. The way you walk, the way you guard that necklace like a starving wolf guards a bone… you're about as subtle as Cillian after a barrel of vodka. I suspected your background. Now…" He leaned closer, voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "…now I know your full name. But don't worry, I won't say it. That's a secret best kept hidden."

Before Clay could respond, footsteps echoed down the stone stairwell. Heavy. Uneven. The scrape of boots, the clank of weapons. Quasi's ears flicked toward the sound, and a grin split his feline face.

From the shadows emerged three burly men, their arms veined with that unnatural violet glow, pulsing like diseased roots beneath their skin. Behind them followed a taller figure, masked and hooded, the same type Clay had glimpsed in the alley before blackness claimed her. The mask's glass eyes caught the lamplight, cold and unreadable.

"Well, well, look who decided to grace us with their grotesque company," Quasi purred, pressing his nose against the bars. "Tell me, boys-do the veins itch? Or do you just rub ointment on each other at night?"

One of the brutes snarled, cracking his knuckles. "Keep flappin' that mouth, beast. I'll skin you and make boots outta your hide."

"Ooh, threatening leatherwork! How intimidating. Do you do monogramming too? Maybe stitch a nice little 'Q' on the heel?" Quasi's tail lashed against the bars in mock excitement.

"Shut it. Boss'd be pissed if we wasted time on you," another spat.

The masked figure raised a gloved hand, silencing them. His voice was mechanical, distorted through the filters of his mask. "Ignore the cat. We're not here for it. We're here for the bounty hunter."

The words dropped like a stone in the pit of Clay's stomach.

With a hiss of hinges, the masked man unlocked the cage door. The three brutes ducked inside, their bulk nearly filling the cramped space as they loomed toward Qian Daiyu.

Quasi's grin widened. He didn't move. Didn't flinch. Just sat, tail flicking, eyes gleaming with mischief and preparation.

The brutes crowded into the cell, the sour stench of sweat and rot filling the small space. Their violet-veined arms twitched, eager for violence. Daiyu lifted her chin, shackled wrists clinking as she leaned back against the wall, her lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile.

"Well now," she purred, her voice low, velvet-wrapped steel. "Three strong men, all for me? That hardly seems fair."

One of them barked a laugh, his eyes roaming greedily. "Fair? Don't worry, darling, we'll treat you real nice before we hand you over."

Her lashes lowered, her smile widening. She tilted her head so that a strand of dark hair slipped across her cheek. "Maybe I can make it worth your while. A little fun before business?"

Another man stepped closer, thick fingers brushing her arm. "You hear that? She wants it."

"Can't blame her," the third chuckled, running his hand down the curve of her hip before fumbling at the iron that bound her ankles.

Daiyu let out a light, playful laugh that slid like smoke into their ears. "Such strong hands. Careful now—these chains don't suit me."

From the doorway, the masked figure's distorted voice cut through. "Enough. Hurry it up."

Grumbling, the men worked to unfasten her restraints. Shackles clanked loose one by one, Daiyu all the while teasing with little murmurs, her lips close enough for her breath to brush their ears. "Mmm, I bet you could carry me with just one arm… so powerful…"

The last shackle hit the floor. Daiyu let her fingers trail along a brute's chest, nails scratching lightly through the fabric. "Such fine men," she whispered. Then, without warning, her body coiled like a spring.

A sharp knee drove into one man's gut. Her elbow cracked against another's jaw. She twisted, flipping over the third's arm and wrenching free before they could react. Their curses filled the cell as they lunged, but Daiyu was already gone, darting low and fast. Their grasping hands closed on nothing but air.

She seized a loose stone from the floor, spun toward Quasi's cage, and snarled, "You'd better not have been lying about your strength, cat!"

With a cry, she leapt, slamming the rock down onto the heavy lock binding Quasi's chains. The iron snapped with a metallic shriek as she landed hard, stumbling but catching herself.

Silence followed.

Then a soft chuckle. Quasi's chuckle. It rose, rich and mocking, until the sound filled the chamber. Slowly, the cat straightened, pushing the cage door open with a creak that echoed in the breathless quiet.

He stepped out, grin splitting his muzzle, eyes glowing with wicked glee. "Ah, gentlemen," he purred, tail lashing. "You really should've skinned me when you had the chance. Now, I'm afraid, I'll have to skin you… metaphorically. Or maybe not."

Before the brutes could react, Quasi's body burst apart in a swirling cloud of black smoke, thick and roiling, swallowing the cell in choking shadow.

The men staggered back, surprised, shouting. Daiyu shielded her mouth with her arm, eyes wide.

Somewhere in the darkness, a deep laughter echoed.

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