It was probably thanks to the location that the phone booth was both intact and remarkably clean. As he took up the receiver, Petyr even heard a dial tone. He dug out his pocket book and searched it with one hand while fishing for coins with his other. After feeding them into the slot he rested his weight against the interior, letting himself groan and complain wordlessly as he rotated the dial. Best get it out of the way while no one could hear him.

His knee hurt. His feet hurt. His body just kind of hurt in general. Even his mind hurt, in a way, trying to make sense of whatever the hell had happened in the Jungle.

The phone rang for quite a while, making him worry he was calling too late in the evening. But finally there was an answer.

“Yes?” Sila said on the other end, her voice made tinny and harsh by passage through such young technology.

“Hello, it’s me, Petyr,” he said. “Let me tell you right away: Your sister is alive.”

There was a soft exhale on the other end, followed by a period of silence. Petyr restrained himself from demanding any kind of response, letting the woman absorb this at her own pace, even as he kept gazing out through the glass in fear of losing tonight’s quarry.

He heard Sila compose herself, then put the receiver back to her mouth.

“How... do you know this?” she asked, voice slightly shaky.

“I met her,” he said. “Last night. She is hiding out in the Jungle, as you suggested, and I ventured inside.”

“And?” Sila demanded.

And what indeed? Petyr had debated with himself about what to say at this moment, and now the moment had come to make a decision.

“Physically, she’s fine, from what I could tell. But whatever happened in that building... it really has her rattled. She’s scared and... she bolted shortly after I met her. Into the darkness. I lost her.”

It was the truth, sure enough. Just not all of it. Going into the full truth of that whole business just seemed cruel when Sila was helpless to do anything about it.

“But she is alive,” the woman said softly, possibly just to hear it out loud again.

“Yes, Sila, she is alive,” Petyr replied. “And I promise you I tried to get her to talk to you.”

“I have no reason not to believe you,” she said. “I feel... where is she staying?”

“Sila...”

Petyr fidgeted awkwardly up against the booth interior, sticking a hand underneath his flatcap and scratching.

“Sila, don’t go looking for her.”

There was a brief silence.

“I feel I have to,” the woman said. “She is my sister.”

“Sila, please... don’t,” he insisted. “It is dangerous in there.”

“All the more reason...” Sila tried, but trailed before starting up again. “I have to-”

“Sila... remember what you told me about you possibly being watched?”

“Yes?”

“I think you’re right.”

The woman was silent. He could only imagine what it was like to have one gnawing worry partially assuaged and another one immediately confirmed. The strange noises from the heart of the Jungle returned to the forefront of his mind, though in truth they’d never strayed far.

“I think whoever wants that Woodforth business silenced is hoping to find your sister through you. Don’t hand them that victory. And you told me you have a young son.”

“I do,” Sila admitted.

“So please do not invite danger to your home,” he said, desperately hoping he wasn’t playing too dirty.

She sighed helplessly.

“What is going on?” she asked rhetorically, as she had during their last meeting.

“I don’t know,” he replied again. “But I keep finding more pieces to the puzzle. It can’t take that many more to glimpse the full picture. I promise you, Sila, that I am working on this and I won’t ever stop.”

“Because your own life depends on it, yes,” she said. “You told me.”

“So don’t lose hope,” he said. “And take some comfort in knowing that she is safe for the moment.”

He had no idea if he was being assuring or sappy, and didn’t feel much like asking. But her next sigh seemed slightly more at ease.

“I suppose it will have to do for now,” the woman said with a note of resignation. “Thank you. For telling me.”

“Sure,” he said. “I think-”

He noticed movement outside and a moment of silent staring confirmed his first impression.

“Look, Sila, I’m sorry but I really need to run,” he said quickly.

“Alright. Take care.”

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

He hung up and hurried out of the phone booth, feeling a sharp stab of pain in his knee at a poorly coordinated step. He ignored it and hurried on, across the street, to Lion Station.

The city’s centre of law enforcement had an imposing profile, which he supposed was the point. There was just something about the dimensions, the sheer size of the bricks, the jutting roof and of course the huge brass lion resting on its haunches outside of the door. It all carried with it an air of authority and power. But aside from being a symbol it was of course also a workplace, and the people walking down the stairs and to the parking lot seemed entirely unaffected by its aura.

They’d gotten into the auto before he crossed the street, fired up the engine, and then hit the pedal as he reached the brick fence. Petyr stepped into the driveway with another stab of pain and held his palm out. Inspector Myra hit the breaks, and as he stepped around to the driver’s side window he could tell how annoyed it made her.

“Good evening, Inspector, '' he said as she rolled the window down.

“I think we’re into night, at this point,” she replied. “What do you want? And if it is about the Angel’s Park thing, then I invite you to shut the hell up.”

“It’s about the Jungle,” Petyr said.

“What about it?”

“Are you aware that something is preying on the residents there?”

“Perils of homelessness,” Myra said grimly. “It’s called the Jungle for a reason.”

He got a bit closer, letting her take in his serious face for a moment before speaking.

“I’m not talking about the regular stuff,” he told her.

She blinked slowly, hinting at fatigue and strained nerves.

“Then what are you talking about?” she asked dully.

“I don’t know, and that’s what really worries me,” he said. “But I nearly fell victim to it myself last night.”

“It?”

“Didn’t see it properly in the dark,” he said. “But whatever it is, there is a whole bunch of it.”

She blinked again slowly.

“You’re being less than clear, mister,” her partner Brown said from the passenger seat.

“Something tried to kill me last night,” Petyr insisted. He turned around, showing them the four rips in his coat over his right shoulder blade. “And it made the most remarkable noises. I’ve never heard a human voice like that. And then a bunch more like it tried to run me down.”

Myra sighed.

“I don’t... what, are you saying lions are stalking our streets?”

“Lions walk on four legs,” he said. “This had two.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

“Look... Petyr... this conversation is neither helpful nor informative. What is the point?”

“The point is that there is some unique problem over there that the law isn’t dealing with,” he said. “Because of who it targets.”

“Yes,” she said sharply, getting angry. “And the Hounds have escalated to burning down apartment buildings, in case you didn’t hear! And the streets are constantly threatening to descend into chaos! And let’s not forget that people are being turned to ash by a gibbering lunatic with a weapon no one can make any sense of! That’s what my job is! I can’t take on every damn problem!”

“I know that,” Petyr said tersely, feeling her mood infect him, seeping through the cracks in his armour formed by his aches and last night’s events.

“Then why are you taking this to me?”

“Because your boss keeps refusing to talk to me, as do most of your colleagues.”

“You’re trouble,” Brown said to him with just a hint of warning.

Petyr leaned further down, enough to look him properly in the eyes before giving him a stiff grin.

“The city has bigger problems than me.”

“It certainly does,” Myra said. “Now let me get back to doing my part in fighting them. Unless you have fresh revelations about the Green Bomber.”

“Do you have any fresh revelations about the Woodforth Building?” he shot back.

“Good night,” she said and shifted the gear stick forward.

“Something very strange is happening!” he shouted over the engine as the auto passed him by.

He stood still and watched it fade away into the night. He pinched the bridge of his nose, before poking the nerves in his upper eye sockets, hoping for a bit of clarity. Could he have handled that better? Would it have made any difference? None of her points had been wrong, exactly, but then neither had any of his. Conscience had demanded he try, at the very least.

Petyr turned to the station and its imposing bronze guardian. He considered another ambush attempt, aimed at the chief, but decided against it. Every desk monkey between the front door and the office knew him by now, and knew to keep him away. To say nothing of the officers themselves.

He walked off down the wet sidewalk, moving slowly and praying to anything and everything that it would convince his knee to let up. High Town was across the river, most of its ample lights made dull by the rain. Sentinel Tower reigned supreme right in the centre of it all, huge and elegant and lit too brightly for mere water to dull it. Petyr had a vague memory of being at the top of it, and felt it must have been during a childhood trip with his parents. Or perhaps a teacher. Either way, he recalled seeing the city from a glorious vantage point. Considering the city as an adult, it was funny to reflect on how much it clashed with his childhood image of it.

Theoretically connecting the two worlds was Champion’s Bridge. It was a glorious, high-arched feat of engineering, but poorly lit and barely visible in the rain and dark. Guarding it on this side of the river were police officers Petyr strongly felt would be more useful on the streets. But then that’s how it was, and probably always had been. Those beyond got special protection, and even though it measured a “mere” half kilometre the beautiful bridge was still somehow impossibly distant.

Petyr leaned against the concrete railing that kept drunkards and unattended children out of the depths of the river, and took things in.

The arch remained stuck in his mind. The feeling of having seen it before was as undeniable and omnipresent as a great big splinter in his eye. And he could have sworn that it was important somehow; that just remembering when and why he’d seen it would lead to some important truth. But try as he might, he just couldn’t find purchase.

There was a temptation, or perhaps an instinct, to dismiss the whole thing as a dream, an after-the-fact addition to that whole confusing set of events. His current fatigue and the sheer strangeness of it all, as well as something about the oppressive darkness of the rainy night, made it an easy slope to begin sliding down.

But that sharp shock he’d had at the time simply couldn’t be denied. It HAD been there, right as he noticed that arch. THAT was how he’d lost track of Redda.

Petyr slowly moved his limbs and flexed his spine, checking his condition for a fight or a run. It wasn’t great, but seeking a way out didn’t change the facts. And the main fact was that he had to go back to that park. He had to get a better view of the arch, and draw its symbols in his notebook. Maybe then he would finally get to the bottom of this pile of mysteries. All this accumulated strangeness simply couldn’t be unrelated.

He looked in the direction of Black Bend and its dark, invisible twin. He was too tired to get into it for what remained of the night. But tomorrow... tomorrow he had to take the plunge. Before his luck ran out, and the Hounds found him again.

Petyr took in a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly. It shook.

Tomorrow night.