“What brings such a well-known Wolf into town? Come to offer your services?” The man leans back on the stool, lounging against the bar.

I chuckle, a sound that leaks between my muzzle in a rumbling grunt, taking the seat next to him and leaning on my fur-covered elbows. The stool barely holds the bulk of my half-wolven form.

I signal to the barkeep for a glass. He pulls a fine glass from the wall, his hands steady. I remember his scent from the last time I was here, many years ago. This man is smart or tough and to last this long as barkeep for the Watchman, I would say it has to be both.

The large painting of a noble lady holding a babe is well at odds with the otherwise rustic and dark decor around the tavern.

At the moment, we are the only three in the room besides a serving wench—and even then; I see the hilt of a knife hidden under her voluminous skirts.

“One might say I’ve come past that, Watchman,” I reply in a low, gruff voice.

He almost drops his glass of mead. “Surely the rumors aren’t true?”

I shrug.

He watches me with a keen gaze. “Most don’t believe it. They think the Master’s offed you.”

“I’d like it to stay that way,” I say, allowing a flash of the Wolf.

He recoils, a cold sweat flashing across his brow. “Of course, Fang. My mistake. What brings you to our humble abode?”

“I need information. A jingoist hunter recently—shall we say—enlisted the expertise of two Shifters. I need to know where they are and where they are going to be.”

He swirls his glass of amber liquid. “Information such as that won’t come cheap. The jingoist guard their secrets well.”

I level a straight look at the man. “I came to you for a reason. If you can’t get the information, I will go elsewhere.” I rise, noting the twitch of the barkeep's hands as his heart pounds a quicker staccato in my ears. I almost smirk. He's not as unaffected by this form as he'd like me to believe.

“Now, now, don’t be hasty, my friend. Information is the name of the game. Should the commander happen to be Vex?”

I grunt.

I set a small finger-length glass of fine Silo against the grains of the stained table.

His jaw gapes for a moment. “Is that what...?”

“Fred, you know me well enough by now to know I pay well. I have a keg of this in the city, fermenting for over seventy-five years by my estimation.”

Silo is a rare commodity. It must be fermented for over fifty years or else the poison from the plant it's made from, Hryssop, is still contained in the drink. It is better with time, as are all good alcohols. Yet, this specific vintage is unlikely to be fermented for over thirty years due to wars and violence constantly shaking the continent. A Silo aged over fifty years is worth its weight in glass gold. Seventy-five is almost unheard of.

What the man before me doesn't know is that I have many such barrels stashed around cities between here to the Capitol and beyond. One can never invest too little into the future, and my old job paid well.

His eyes never leave the glass. “Commander Vex and his men are stopped in Greyston. An insurrection required greater help than the jingoist there could handle. They will remain in the city for the foreseeable future. The Underground Resistance is poking its head in places the Emperor would like to remain hidden.”

I slide the small glass to him, and he uncorks the stopper, taking a deep inhale of the liquid gold.

I pass him a folded paper. “Follow these directions. Don’t have me followed or the keg will disappear. Burn the paper.”

He nods, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he watches the burnished bronze liquid as if entranced.

I leave, my shoulders loosening a minuscule amount as the information provides a balm for my soul. They aren’t out of my reach, not yet. I’ll train these men and recover, then head for my family.

I look up at the moon shining silver with the stars twinkling in the black expanse overhead, reminding me of my father’s words. What I didn’t tell him then... I hope I have enough light left in me to shine. What I feel is only darkness.

I thank what lucky stars I have for this miracle. The Resistance putting up a large enough fuss that reinforcements must remain in town... hopefully it lasts long enough for me to return and get them out.

My form of half-man, half-beast reverts down into man. I pull the hood of my cloak over my dark hair as I walk into a building that contains a ramshackle mixture of rotting furniture and old, broken pottery. A dark grey shirt waits for me from under a desk, and I pull it over my head and bare chest, then twitch the cloak back over the shirt. I have to lean on a wall as my breath catches in my chest, rattling around within my bruised torso.

I'm moving before anyone can find me lurking. The Watchman has never had me followed previously, but there's a first time for everything.

The Watchman is a bit of guild leader, bit of mob boss, and bit of spy rolled into one. He's useful so long as he's kept on a long leash. His loyalty only follows so long as the compensation flows and flows well.

Stolen story; please report.

The half-wolf abomination I can turn into has its uses, and it's the one thing I always used in my past life if I wanted to be anonymous. The upside is no one can duplicate it... if I walk into a joint saying I'm Fang, that form is known. It is better than any calling card.

Also, it's terrifying, the voice adds.

That too, I reply.

Impersonators for assassins, especially famous ones, happens more often than you'd think.

Who'd have the hair-brained idea to try that?

No clue.

They must've inhaled too much Rush and exhaled too many brain cells.

I choke on a chuckle.

Roland is not known—I never wore that form unless the people who saw me were dead already. And I like it to stay that way.

A sound catches my ears. I pause. Do I really want to do this? Do I want to drag attention to myself so soon after meeting Watchmen?

Eh. When have we ever done the smart thing?

A smirk tips my lips, my canines already lengthening.

Let's do this.

The back alleys lead to ragged breathing and the sound of harsh laughter, followed by a cry of pain.

A man and his son are caged in by three men at the back of a dead-end alley that stinks of rot and pain. Two of the criminals look for all the continent as if their worlds are aligned.

The poor man has a sack he's clutching to his chest as he keeps the kid behind him. One of his eyes is almost swollen shut.

"I have nothing worthwhile. Just a few notes from the loggers," he says, voice trembling as he cowers against the cold grey wall. I can smell his fear, and his heart beats a frantic pace in his chest, sounding like a horse being chased by a lion.

Harsh laughter comes from a man caging him in.

"Big Man says something different, little man. Give us the notes and we won't hurt you and the boy... bad," He says, but the way he holds a knife and the rotten stench of cruelty says something different.

The poor man against the wall trembles, as if he too can scent the lie making the air smell like garlic mixed with peppermint.

Another man cracks his knuckles, a grin on his face. The other watches with half-hearted interest, his gaze darting to the alley head as if looking for an escape.

He sees me and does a double take.

"Uhhh... boss." His words have a slight lisp at the end from a missing front tooth.

"What?" the man snaps, his cloak falling off his head to show bright red hair. He curses. "This better be good, Hank."

Hank points a trembling hand at me.

The boss man's demeanor changes when he sees me. An audible gulp greets my ears and my wolf howls with glee at the coming battle.

I snap my foot out. I catch the edge of a piece of innoxious wood; it flies from a pile of broken building materials.

I grasp it in my hand when it reaches chest high, rolling it between my palms and finding a promising grip. It is about the length of my forearm. Excellent.

Hank backs against a wall. The dead end they had chased their prey into now boxing them in.

Fitting.

"You are outnumbered. Get out of here before you get hurt," the boss says—the man beside him steps towards me with intent, his sword ringing as it's drawn from its sheath.

There is no need for more words to clutter the space.

I advance in evenly measured steps, communicating a lack of fear.

With a yell, the man raises his sword and swipes at me. I slap it aside with my stick, and when the man becomes off balance, I slap the stick against his jugular.

He gurgles for a moment, grasping at his throat with his free hand. He gets his breath back a moment later, and with a growl that would make a wolf proud, he tries to run me through. I slip to the side, allowing the man to overextend, and before he can recover, I slap my stick down on the inside of his wrist.

The crack of bone reverberates down the alley, followed by a shout of pain.

I cut the shout off when I strike the back of the man's neck, and he collapses in a heap on the ground.

A whisper of sound from behind is all the warning I get... but it's all the warning I need. I roll forward, the hiss of air and a sword striking stone making my ears ring.

Quite playing and be done with this.

I huff in agreement.

With inhuman speed, I spin and knock the boss man's feet out from under him. The air is knocked from his lungs on contact with the hard ground, and he curls into a fetal position, whimpering.

I sigh. That wasn't a challenge.

Just be thankful things went our way. For once.

True.

I turn to the man and his son.

"I won't harm you. Where are you heading?" I ask softly and with a calm politeness in my voice.

"W-We were going home," he says, keeping his boy firmly behind him.

"They will not bother you any longer. I will follow from a distance to be sure you make it home."

The man almost melts in relief. His shoulders sag as his eyes close for a moment. His gaze searches beneath my hood for my face. "Thank you, kind sir. What can I do to repay your compassion?"

I smile beneath my black hood. "No need for that. If someone is in need, just remember that someone was there to help you when you were facing something beyond your control."

He bows. "Of course, sir knight. I will pass it on."

He heads out of the alley head, eyes darting as he drags his son behind him.

The son glances back at me. I would guess him to be thirteen or fourteen full cycles. His cheeks still keep the slight pugginess of boyhood.

He smiles, and I pull the hood back slightly so I can give him a smile back and a wink. His grin widens before he's pulled out of view.

I glance back at Hank, seeing him quail beneath my black gaze as I fix the hood back into place. "Tell Boss Crimson not to mess with the man nor his family, or his stock of Rush on 6th will disappear."

Hank nods, quivering. "Y-Yessir."

I leap, latching onto a windowsill and using it to propel me to a balcony on the outside of a brothel. I ignore the laughter from within, making it to the roof and listening for the footsteps of my query.

The boy and his father race down the street, and I leap from the brothel roof to an A-frame home that has seen better days. The roof gives beneath me, a dark yawning pit wanting to drop me at least a story, possibly more. Sticking out a hand, I stop my fall by grasping a portion of jagged roof that didn't give with my weight. It groans, but holds.

I hiss out an annoyed breath as I caught a jutting board, scraping my hand. Just my luck. Morgana is going to have my hide if this doesn't heal by morning.

I pull myself up, stepping with less haste and more caution as I cross the rest of this roof. My ribs scream as the adrenaline slowly fades from my system and the aches and pains force their way back into my conscious. I growl out some indecipherable words, leaping from the bad roof to a more stable structure, then to a jutting balcony on a three-story inn. Horrible out of tune singing comes from the tavern on the bottom level.

I climb to the top, and that's when I finally see the man knock on the door of a seamstress shop. A shutter beside the door opens just enough for someone to peek out, then a squeal comes from within.

"Daddy!" a little girl cries.

The door opens and a little figure crashes into the father, making the man step back a few paces.

He hugs her tightly.

The man looks both directions, then quickly ushers his son into the building, following a step behind with his daughter in his hands and quickly shutting the door with a bang.

I hear a bar slamming into place across the door.

I smile, a true thing that lights up my face.

That was fun. We should do things like that more often.

I would agree, but my leg chooses that moment to give beneath me, almost sending me to the ground three stories below.

Yeah, I agree, but my body sure doesn't. I limp back to the inn, my heart full.