CHAPTER THIRTY

Triggering a Bloodhound

Day 90

Laurens

Laurens watched his nephew wrangle Felix into a fresh shirt, smirking behind his fashion magazine at the struggle. He glanced over at the cast on Felix’s arm, seeing what Marcus had done with it. His nephew had taken his chance to scribble every expletive he could think of across the cast on Felix’s arm while the man had been sleeping, creating a masterpiece Felix did not seem to appreciate for some reason.

“I can do it myself,” Felix muttered, trying to push his friend away with his good arm. Marcus grinned and held him steady, barely shifting.

“A little help here?” Felix glanced Laurens’s way, a plea in his eyes. “Tell your nephew to back off.”

Laurens didn’t even look up. “No thanks,” he replied dryly, flipping another page. “I’d rather he bully you than me. You kids have fun.”

Felix poked Marcus hard in the ribs, and Marcus hissed, stepping back with a hand on his side. “Yeah, you better run,” Felix said, jabbing a finger his way like he was wielding a spear. Felix finally tugged his shirt into place, muttering, “I’m a grown ass man.”

Laurens flipped another page, throwing in, “Never heard of a grown man crying when they took his IV out.”

Felix shot him a dark look, grumbling something about “not helping, old man,” as he slipped his shoes on and wrestled with the laces one-handed.

“Bianca’s safe, right?” Felix asked, voice softer in that moment, his eyes fixed on Laurens as he mentioned his food truck.

‘I swear, that guy and his food truck,’ Laurens thought before sighing, not sharing Felix’s affection for the truck’s name. “Safe and sound. Colleague of mine parked her at the station. We’ll pick her up after your statement.”

Felix nodded, then noticed Marcus packing his bag without a word. “Dude, I can pack my own stuff.”

“Jesus, sorry for trying to be a good friend,” Marcus muttered, backing off with his hands up. He shot an eye-roll toward his uncle, then dropped into a seat beside him. Laurens’s attention seemed fixed on a fashion magazine, eyes glued to a picture of a woman on the page. “Picking out your new wife?” Marcus asked, grinning at his own comment.

Laurens calmly flipped the page, not even looking over at his nephew before speaking up, “Ever been tased?” When there wasn’t any reply, he just nodded, as if ending the topic.

He watched Felix struggle to pack his bag, fumbling with the zipper as he tried to close it one-handed. Felix’s expression soured with every failed attempt, his mouth setting into a hard line. Laurens shook his head before returning to his magazine, only glancing up to watch the man’s frustration grow.

Shifting his gaze to Marcus, he noticed the fresh bandages wrapped around his nephew’s arms. ‘He’s alright,’ he reminded himself, working to push down a nagging worry that hadn’t quite left him. He thought of how long it had taken him to get used to his niece becoming a Breacher, seeing her come back bruised and cut from time to time. If he had to be honest with himself, then he still hadn’t fully adjusted to her new calling.

His gaze lingered on Marcus’s right arm, seeing the third gray notch tattooed into the skin of his bicep—one Laurens himself had marked there himself a few days ago. ‘Cute that he’s emulating me and his old man,’ Laurens thought, scratching his beard thoughtfully. But the reason behind those marks still puzzled him. ‘We used to count official matches we’d won,’ he mused, ‘but what’s he counting? Every job he’s done with those Salamanders? Times he got paid? Times he escaped death?’

He heard his nephew again attempt to help his friend. As expected, Felix shot him down without hesitation, waving him off with his good arm. Resigned, Marcus leaned back, pulling out his phone to check something. Laurens watched as a more serious look briefly settled over Marcus’s face, only to be replaced by a grin as he read whatever was on the screen.

In the end, Laurens couldn’t resist a jab. “What’s up with the stupid grin? You got a girl or something?”

Marcus closed his phone, scoffing. “No, I don’t have a girl,” he replied. “And why’s everyone picking on me?”

“It helps with my pain,” Felix said, a gleam in his eye, while Laurens rubbed his brow, bemoaning his lack of coffee. Felix didn’t stop there. “And it’s not true,” he teased. “I know for a fact that you’ve got a crush.”

Laurens perked up, a rare smirk stretching his face as he tossed the magazine aside. “Oh, do tell. Who’s this mystery girl. I take it she’s blind and doesn’t have sense of smell?”

Marcus shot Felix a warning look, but Felix pointed at the slur words scribbled on his cast for a moment before turning his attention back to Laurens, grin widening. “You know the Gold Claws, right?”

Laurens nodded, catching on to the direction this was heading. “Yes, I’ve actually been outside before. Biggest guild in Europe. They cleared that nasty Sphere in Portugal a few years back. What about them?”

“You know Fari Suarez?” Felix asked, savoring the moment while Marcus looked ready to punch him in the gut.

Laurens shook his head, then froze, as if recognizing the name. “You mean, Lynx?”

“Mhmh,” Felix bit his lip, holding back laughter.

Laurens blinked, then slowly pieced it together, his eyes going wide. “As in one of the Five Claws?” His gaze snapped to Marcus, eyes full of disbelief. “Wait—you fancy Lynx? An actual Delta-ranked Breacher?”

Marcus tensed. “Fancy is a big word,” he muttered, voice flat. “I just talked to her once.”

Felix couldn’t contain himself anymore. He slapped his thigh before pointing at Marcus with his good hand. “He offered her a muffin. A muffin!”

Laurens lost his composure, laughing so hard he almost slid off his chair. He wiped a tear from his eye, clutching his stomach as the realization sank in. Even Felix, clutching his arm in pain, joined in, making it all the sweeter.

Marcus stood, shaking his head. “Screw you guys,” he muttered before striding out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Laurens grinned after him, the image of his nephew’s hopeless crush burned into his memory.

“A muffin,” he whispered to himself, chuckling. “God help him.”

- - -

Laurens changed out of his civilian clothes, ignoring how tight his police uniform felt around his waist as he buttoned it up. He took a moment in front of the small mirror in his locker, running a hand over his beard to check its state before winking at his own reflection with a little click of his tongue. With a glance down at his biceps, he noticed the seventeen gray notches inked into his skin. He ran a finger over one of them thoughtfully. ‘What are you doing, Marcus?’ he wondered, then shook his head and closed the locker.

Heading through the station, Laurens dropped a few things off at his desk before making his way toward the entrance. He spotted his nephew on a bench, sipping coffee and staring at the door to a private room across the hall. Inside, Felix sat with another officer, recounting what had happened yesterday, giving his official statement. Laurens could almost see Marcus’s mind ticking behind his serious gaze, as if picturing every detail of how his friend explained how the fight had broken out between the two groups of Breachers and who had thrown the first punch.

“So, this brings me back,” Laurens said, sitting down on the bench next to his nephew before swiping Marcus’s coffee and taking a few sips. “I still remember the day you were at the old station, and your old man had to pick you up.”

“Yeah,” Marcus replied with a soft smile. “Thirteen years ago.”

Laurens drained the last of the coffee, nodding to a colleague who was walking down the hallway. Again, his gaze fell on the bandages covering Marcus’s arms and the fresh bruise darkening his cheek. He clenched his jaw for a moment. ‘He’s a good kid,’ he reminded himself, memories stirring of how frail Marcus had looked all those years, trapped in his hospital bed. Laurens closed his eyes and leaned further back against the bench. In that moment, he could almost feel his own brother grip his shoulder, demanding something of him. “Are you sure about the whole Breacher part?” he asked, his voice soft.

“I’m sure,” Marcus said, glancing at him, as if reading the concern on his face. “I’m alright. It’s just bruising. I’m not doing anything crazy.”

“You’re fighting literal monsters,” Laurens countered, shaking his head. “First your sister… now you. Your dad would be turning in his grave if we hadn’t cremated him. And your mum is probably going to haunt me for allowing this.” He sighed, standing up to toss the empty coffee cup in a nearby garbage bin. He started to say something else, but the door beside him opened, and Felix emerged with a police officer.

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“We’ll get this sorted out, alright?” the officer said as Felix nodded. He handed Felix a printed document before awkwardly shaking his left hand. “Good luck on your recovery.” The officer nodded to Laurens, then walked off down the hall.

“Thanks, Bob,” Laurens called out after the officer before turning his attention to Felix. “You alright, lad?”

“Yeah,” Felix said, his voice a little stiff as he stared at the document. “I’m still not thrilled about pressing charges against several Breachers. But, yeah, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Don’t worry,” Laurens reassured him, giving his shoulder a solid pat. “You did well. We’ll handle things from here.” He pointed at the document. “Just send a copy of that to your insurance, and get an estimate on the repair costs for your truck. You should be all covered. If not, you’ll call me, alright?”

“I’ll do that,” Felix said, pocketing the document before the three of them headed out of the station after picking up the keys. Felix awkwardly climbed into the driver’s seat after reaching his truck, wincing as he maneuvered with his good arm. Meanwhile, Marcus did a quick check along the side of the truck, running his fingers over the large dent. He sighed, then hopped into the passenger seat.

Laurens stood by as the engine roared to life, the radio blasting a wave of salsa music so loud it nearly rattled the windows. He winced, while Marcus quickly reached over and twisted the dial to decrease the volume, muttering something that made Felix chuckle. Laurens just shook his head, walking around to the back of the truck.

“Alright, take it slow,” he called out, signaling for them to reverse. The truck jerked backward, tires squealing as it struggled to fit out of the tight parking spot. Laurens guided them, waving his hands to the left and right. Marcus leaned over, handling the gear shift while Felix steered one-handed, his face tight with concentration.

“Straighten up... easy... there you go,” Laurens coached, making sure they didn’t scratch up any of the station’s property. Finally, with a few more adjustments, the truck rolled free from the cramped lot, engine rumbling.

He walked up to the driver’s window, leaning in with a stern look. “Now, you boys don’t do anything dumb, alright? Straight home, and then you park this monstrosity. And Felix, don’t let me catch you letting my idiot nephew drive.”

Felix shot him a toothy grin. “Promise,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. The salsa music flared up again as if mocking Laurens’s warning. Before he could say anything else, the truck lurched forward, tires screeching as Felix made a sharp turn out of the lot. Laurens could hear Marcus shouting something over the music, but the words got lost in the noise as the truck sped off.

He stood there with his hands on his hips. “Bunch of idiots,” he muttered to himself, watching as the truck disappeared around the corner, leaving nothing but a fading echo of salsa music behind it.

Laurens walked back inside the station, leaving the morning sunlight behind as the glass doors slid shut. The familiar hum of activity greeted him—officers talking, phones ringing, the constant clatter of keyboards. He wove through the maze of desks, nodding at a few colleagues who gave him quick waves. His own desk came into view, a mess of papers, empty cans, and a half-eaten granola bar that had probably been sitting there for days.

He dropped into his chair with a sigh, reaching over to power up his workstation. The monitor flickered to life, casting a pale glow as he tapped in his login details. He groaned as a mandatory software update screen popped up, glaring at him. “Fantastic,” he muttered, tempted to discharge his service pistol into the machine several times. Instead, he settled for clicking the ‘update’ button like it had personally offended him. The progress bar inched along at a snail’s pace, so he grabbed the dirty mug sitting beside his keyboard, grimacing at the crusty ring left inside. ‘It’s fine. The coffee will kill any germs.’

The breakroom offered a brief reprieve from the chaos outside. Laurens pushed open the door, spotting a few police officers clustered around the small table, laughing over something on someone’s phone. He gave them a quick nod, then made his way to the coffee machine. Bob stood there, cleaning his own mug.

“Thanks again for earlier,” Laurens said, nodding to him before holding up his grimy mug with a raised brow. He gave it a sniff, shrugged, then stuck it under the machine’s spout and hit the button.

Bob glanced over, one brow raised. “The kid alright?” he asked, drying his mug before handing it over to him.

“Yeah, Felix is a tough kid,” Laurens replied, just filling his own mug before taking a cautious sip, ignoring the Bob’s mug.

“Really?” Bob asked, a smirk forming.

“What, I’m old and senile,” Laurens shot back, nudging the man aside with his hip to make room for himself. Bob just chuckled, moving over to make his own coffee.

Minutes passed in a comfortable rhythm, the two men sipping their drinks. They went over the shifts they had lined up for the day—paperwork, patrols, a few ongoing cases that needed wrapping up.

A vibration from his pocket pulled his attention. He fished out his phone, seeing a new message from Marcus flash across the screen.

┏ ┓

“Home safe.

Didn’t hit any pedestrians along the way.

Thanks for everything!”

-Marcus

┗ ┛

Laurens smiled, typing back a quick reply before tucking the phone away. Bob caught his eye, raising his mug in a silent toast. He mirrored the gesture, then downed the rest of his coffee in one go.

He stretched afterwards, stifling a yawn as he shut off his phone. “Alright, time to face the music,” he grumbled, pushing away from the counter. The day had just begun, but the weight of it was already settling on his shoulders. Between last night’s and this morning’s trips to the hospital, he felt drained.

“Rough night?” came a voice from behind him, smooth but carrying that familiar edge.

Laurens turned, finding Detective Nanda Walters standing there, hands casually tucked into the pockets of her tailored slacks. He met her gaze with a tired look, then shrugged, scratching his beard. “Rough life,” he countered, taking another sip of his lukewarm coffee. “Nephew called last night. His best friend got hurt trying to calm down a group of Breacher. Broke his right arm in the process. So, me being the generous and loving uncle, had to grab them both some fresh clothes and babysit them for a few hours. Bob took their statement a few minutes ago.”

Bob nodded in confirmation, stepping aside to let Nanda have her turn at the coffee machine. “Your nephew again, huh?” she asked, arching a brow with a knowing smile. “I thought we scared him straight?”

“It’s not like that this time,” Laurens said with a chuckle. “He was working a Sphere, while his friend was handling food and drinks on site. Some pent-up Breachers got fussy, started a brawl with another group, and decided to take it out on Marcus’s friend.”

“There’s dozens of witnesses, and they’ve got priors,” Bob added, draining the last of his coffee. He looked like he was about to say more when a voice from down the hall called for him. He gave Laurens and Nanda a quick nod before moving off to chat with a couple of colleagues, leaving Laurens and Nanda alone.

Laurens seized the moment, taking a dramatic step closer to her, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “So, Detective Walters,” he said, waggling his empty mug playfully, “might I ask what you’re doing later on?” He leaned in just enough to suggest a hint of charm, hoping to sound a bit more seductive.

Nanda let out a soft chuckle, giving him a teasing elbow to the ribs. “Filing HR reports if you keep using that horrible tone,” she replied, her voice warm despite the words. She pressed a button on the coffee machine, her focus briefly shifting to the brewing process. “So, anything special planned for your shift today?”

“Hopefully working alongside you,” Laurens shot back, earning himself another elbow. He grinned, then sighed, placing his mug on the counter behind him. “Paperwork, mostly. They never told me before joining the force that I’d spend half my time glued to a computer screen.”

“That’s because you type like an old lady, Officer Smit,” Nanda teased, her lips curving into a smirk. She glanced over at Bob, who was deep in conversation with two other officers, all of them hunched over a data pad. “Something up?” she asked, nodding toward them, seeing Bob occasionally nod and point at Laurens.

“Probably more paperwork,” Laurens groaned, pushing off the counter. Together, they made their way over to the small huddle.

Bob glanced up as they approached. “Good and bad news,” he began, focusing on Laurens. “We found the five Breachers in question. Bad news is, they’re all in the hospital or on their way there.”

“Still not hearing the bad news,” Laurens muttered under his breath, but Nanda silenced him with another elbow.

“Ignore him,” she said, “please continue.”

“Looks like some Breacher took them out,” one of the other officers chimed in, his face serious. “Beta rank at the very least, from what we could gather.”

“Wait,” Nanda said, her brow furrowing. “One person took down five guys?”

“Three Marked and two non-Marked,” the officer clarified. His colleague pulled up a shaky video on his data pad, turning it toward Laurens and Nanda. “Destroyed half the bar in the process.”

The recording showed a chaotic scene—tables overturned, glass shattering. In the midst of it all, a hooded figure moved like a force of nature, fists flying as the individual dismantled several men in seconds. The video quality made it hard to make out details, but the person making the recording ducked behind the bar just as gunfire erupted.

“Rewind that,” Nanda ordered, her eyes narrowing. She leaned in as the officer rewound the footage, stopping at a clearer frame of the hooded individual and the torn clothes. Her gaze sharpened, studying the figure’s movements, trying to glean any identifying details. “Hello again,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else, but Laurens caught the shift in her tone—a mix of fixation and curiosity.

“It’s the figure from the hospital,” Laurens muttered, his jaw tightening. He hadn’t forgotten the gut-wrenching news of an unknown assailant attacking his comatose nephew three months ago, nor forgotten the image. That moment still gnawed at him.

“Why is it that every time this figure shows up, your nephew’s involved?” Nanda asked, her sharp gaze shifting toward Laurens, probing for answers.

He tensed up, feeling that familiar pull in his shoulders as his tone turned sharp. “Careful, detective.”

“I’m just asking a question.”

Laurens jabbed a finger at the screen, pointing to a clock in the background of the chaotic footage. “Marcus was in the hospital with me at that time. I watched him get treated by a nurse.”

“Are you sure?” she pressed, sliding her hands into her pockets, her eyes locked on his with a steady calm. “Come on, Laurens, you can’t tell me you’re not seeing a pattern here. First the hospital, then the Sphere we found your nephew in, now this.”

“I was with him,” Laurens insisted, stabbing his finger at the screen again, this time highlighting the faint, light blue mist surrounding the shadowy figure. “Marcus’s an Alpha, and barely one at that. He couldn’t produce that much Mana. He was with me, along with his friend and a nurse. He never left my sight.” Bob opened his mouth to speak, but Laurens cut him off with a raised hand. “Besides, you’re not on this case. Lucas is. I’ll talk to my nephew today, see if he knows something about all of this. Alright?”

Nanda nodded slowly, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “I’d appreciate that, Laurens.” For a moment, she just stared at him, something unreadable in her eyes, before he collected himself with a frustrated huff, grabbed his dirty mug, and stormed off toward his desk, his face set in a scowl.

Nanda watched him go, her eyes lingering on his retreating figure before turning her attention back to the screen. “You said they were all taken to the hospital?”

“Yes, ma’am,” one of the officers confirmed. “Minor lacerations, puncture wounds, broken ribs, and all of them had broken arms.”

“All of them?” Her eyebrow shot up, clearly intrigued.

“Yeah, all of them,” the officer repeated, looking puzzled. “A witness said it almost felt... mechanical.”

Nanda grabbed the data pad, studying the hooded figure closely, her eyes narrowing as she absorbed every detail. “Let me guess… their right arms?”

The officers exchanged confused glances before one of them nodded. “Yeah, how did you know?”

“Women’s intuition,” she replied, handing the data pad back with a smirk. “Send me everything you’ve got on the incident, alright?”

Bob leaned in, his eyes narrowing at the hooded figure frozen on the screen. “I thought Detective Lucas was handling the hospital case?”

Nanda’s gaze sharpened as she looked back at Laurens from across the room, her smirk widening into something almost predatory. “Not anymore.” She turned to the officers, pointing at them with a decisive snap of her fingers. “Everything you have, on my desk.” Without another word, she strode away, that familiar thrill of the chase sharpening her mind as she locked onto a new fixation.