Had he always known?

The troll had always suspected his goblin brother of something. But one can only ignore suspicions for so long.

Now that he knew, now that Larimer knew his green brother was a traitor, his hands were tied in an ugly knot. There had to be consequences for disloyalty. There had to be consequences for lies told old and without merit.

The alehouse, hideout of the hord, had officially been closed off to Vilk. The goblin was spared from the usual punishment of betrayal, but that was all that Larimer could stomach to allow. Even in betrayal, their bond tore slowly, splintered and raw.

A silent exile was the extent that Larimer could afford Vilk, and nothing more.

“We’ve lost sight of him,” a low-ranking officer reported to Jocelyn.

“Then find him,” she replied, rubbing her temples in frustration.

“Who is this goblin? What makes him so important?” another officer asked, echoing the curiosity of many that day.

Jocelyn sighed, her patience wearing thin. “It will all make sense in the end. For now, just find where he’s gone.”

The ambitious woman retired to her office, a small and sparsely furnished box. It was a far cry from the spacious, well-appointed office she dreamed of with a promotion. Dull beige walls failed to complement the copper hues of her uniform. A single window let in a sliver of daylight, casting shadows that seemed to make the room feel even smaller.

Her desk, a sturdy but worn piece of furniture, was piled high with case files and paperwork nearly toppling over. The surface was barely visible under the clutter, and the chair behind it had seen better days. Against a wall stood a basic bookshelf, filled with manuals, legal texts, and a few personal mementos—a reminder of a family who believed in her potential.

The floor was at least warmed by a rug that muffled the sounds of the bustling precinct outside her door.

Jocelyn glanced around her modest surroundings, the desire for advancement burning in her eyes. Aware that a little extra work could make all the difference, she was determined to earn the promotion that would elevate her from her current cramped office to the one she truly deserved.

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“You’re having me followed?” Vilk spoke from behind the door before pushing it shut to reveal he had been in the room, hidden and waiting.

Jocelyn gave a minor response in her face, but her hand had reached to draw the firearm worn on her hip. With a breath, she stopped herself from putting holes in the wall while the green skin moved closer.

“Vilk. I’m almost surprised. Have you come to turn over the hord?”

“I’ve come to offer you something greater.”

“What threat could be larger than our city’s rotten limb? It stands as our last great hurdle,” the woman spoke with an irritated glare tempered only by hair thin patients.

“Your office is responsible for more than man hunts. Or don’t you care for anything more?”

Settling into her seat, Jocelyn questioned, “You have nothing more, Vilk. You never did. That’s what I’ve respected about our relationship. You made it clear from the very beginning what you’re capable of. Only now that we’ve reached the bottom of the bucket, you’ve begun to petal these simple trinkets.”

She almost laughed, but all her playfulness dissolved when Vilk added, “I know the whereabouts of Caine Barlow’s treasure.”

“Because you were the one who stole it?”

“The city has searched for years to find his treasure. I can give it to you.”

“If I abandon my hunt for the hord? You know I can’t do that. I won’t,” Jocelyn said, finally reaching her limit.

“The treasure is a great prize. Rocket your career beyond your station with it,” Vilk suggested before the officer belittled his words, asking, “What is this? Desperation? Have I grown too near to your friends in the shadows?”

Jocelyn stood, and with a hand on her holstered weapon, she went on, “There will be no negotiation. Will you be a light elm or dark?”

The air in the room turned heavy with tension, every second stretching into an eternity. Vilk froze, his mind racing as Jocelyn drew her pistol, aiming for his knees. He had but a heartbeat to react, and his reflexes did not disappoint. He darted to the side, feeling the sting of a bullet grazing his hip—a minor scratch, but enough to remind him of the stakes.

Decorum had vanished; Vilk was now a suspect. He lunged for the door, only to have Jocelyn kick her desk into his path, blocking his escape. With no other way out, Vilk launched himself at her, daggers flashing as he aimed to disarm her. Jocelyn, however, was quicker than he anticipated. She kicked him away with a swift motion, reloading her weapon with practiced ease.

“Made your choice, then?” she taunted, her voice cold and steady as Vilk hit the floor.

Vilk had several ways to win the fight, each more lethal than the last. But he had no intention of being charged with murder. Seeing no other way to leave without bloodshed, he threw a stack of papers into the air, creating a temporary cover. It was just enough time for him to leap for the window.

The glass shattered around him, a cascade of pain and noise, but he knew the true challenge lay in the fall. He plunged his daggers into the exterior walls, using them to slow his descent. Still, he slid quickly; the stone resisting his blades. When the daggers finally caught, the sudden jerk nearly ripped them from his grip.

He looked up to see Jocelyn leaning out the window, watching him. When their eyes met, less than a second was given before she aimed her pistol to shoot the goblin down.