Back in the office, Jason cleans up what little mess the female wolf left. I start to pour over the file on the desk, really nothing. I close it in frustration a moment later, moving over to the machine in the corner to make myself a coffee. Jason takes my place. The sound of him flipping pages mixes with the sound of the water boiling and squealing as it pours over the half-burnt grounds in the canister. Damn cheap department. As soon as the mug is full, I pull it away and pour in way more sugar than is healthy for someone my age. I dislike coffee, but it’s better than being groggy the whole morning, and trying to import any tea but chamomile costs a fortune on this planet. Damn vampires.

Eventually, Jason puts the file down as well and takes a seat by the window. I gulp the rest of my cup. One is enough for now. I sit across from him, crossing my legs and sighing. He stares into oblivion a while longer before turning to regard me.

“Not much to go on there.”

“Nope,” I grunt, “What do you want to do now?”

“Well, how far did we send the bulletin again?”

“Local precincts only, under the assumption the syndicate hasn’t moved offworld.”

“And that was my idea?”

“Not entirely. I’m hoping this isn’t a case that’ll cause planet-hopping. That can get messy, and I don’t want your first case to be that rough.”

“Still. It can’t hurt for us to send it further, at least to Wolven and Peligor.”

“Still rough.”

Jason chuckles. “Too late to worry about that. What are the chances we walk in on a feral, still chained, bearing the same mark as our victim?”

I just shake my head. What are the chances we even found a feral? I’d seen one in my career once before, same planet but a long shot from the center of a busy city. It’d been an old farm miles from civilization, and the tip had been shoddy. But I was younger, stupider, and I had more to prove. That was before SCD, when I was still thinking I could be a small detective for a police department.

“What are you thinking about, detective?”

I shake my head again. “Nothing important. You can be a real show-off, I ever tell you that?”

Jason blushes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“A perfect partial shift with no warning, and you didn’t even pause. I’m probably gonna have to buy a new shirt. Show-off.”

Jason looks around innocently and then grins widely. “Or….you’re just rusty. We don’t really get to go wild a lot as officers of the law.”

“Are you calling me old?” I growl. “I could still run laps around you, pup.”

“We have some time to kill, waiting for them to finish evaluating the feral. Prove it.”

I grin back. “Fine. I will.”

We’re back in the car and on our way across the city before either of us can change our minds. Even without the competition, I think, I do need some exercise. Sitting around and drinking isn’t doing wonders for my physique. Then we’re in front of the Lycandrome. The vampires could work to make it socially taboo to shift in public, but even they knew we had to have some outlet. The great expanse of grass stretched out before us as we paid our fee and pushed through the gate into the center of the complex.

Both of us stepped into the changing rooms, stowing our few belongings and clothes in lockers, before stepping back onto the turf now bare to the skin. Jason shivered but smiled.

“Ready?”

“What are the rules?”

“Last to finish three laps buys the other lunch wherever they want.”

“Deal.”

We pose, down on all fours, and shift fully into our wolf forms. Jason is the model of a Sangredo wolf, pure-black fur long and flat against his body. He takes a long stretch, licks his lips, and looks over to me. Me, who feels overweight even in wolfskin, my fur already turning gray around my muzzle.

Come one, old man. Don’t give up on me before we even start. Jason teases.

Just ‘rusty’ as you say. Prepare to be out of a paycheck, boy.

Doubt it.

We stand shoulder to shoulder on the grass, both leaning low and ready to spring forwards.

Ready? Go!

Jason takes the lead at first, young limbs more suited to the initial sprint. My joints, meanwhile, protest at the sudden exertion, but I push past the discomfort. I can see him just ahead of me, nearing midway to the first curve, and I feel the caffeine in my blood. No way I’m losing to this young upstart. I force myself to go faster, pushing against the ground harder than I have in a long time. Soon, I’m gaining on him, close enough to nip his tail.

Hey, no fair.

I laugh as I push past him.

You never said it was against the rules.

I race forwards, trying to leave him behind, but I can feel his presence close on my heels. We round the far side of the field and start to come back. I keep pushing, but I can feel my energy starting to dip. Not now. Come on. I force my way through the dip, mustering whatever reserves I have in my aging bones. Jason, meanwhile, is inching closer and closer to overtaking me, and he takes the lead again as we reach the start. Lap 1 done.

We’re near neck and neck through the second lap, but as we near the finish line again I feel myself start to truly tire, and Jason takes the opportunity to get farther ahead. He seems to get a little more in front every lope until I’m once again staring right at the back of him. We round the opposite curve again, and I know I can’t beat him. I slow to a pace, no longer trying to keep up, and pant until Jason finishes his last lap and comes to walk beside me.

Well? What do you say to that?

I say you win. What more did you want?

To admit you’re rusty.

Fine. I’m rusty. Happy?

Jason doesn’t say anything, but I can practically feel the grin leeching off of him. I stop, and he takes a second to turn. As soon as he’s facing me, I take the last ounce of energy in my body and leap on top of him, pinning him on his back. He growls, but I know I can win a contest of strength at least.

Aww. What’s wrong, pup?

No fair! Let me up.

Admit it. You’re just a show-off because you're some distant relation to the mainline Sangredo family.

Come on Jason tries to shake me off, but I hold firm. Seriously, let me up.

Not until you admit it.

This isn’t funny.

Admit it.

Jason doesn’t say anything, he just huffs and stares at me with hatred in his eyes. I sigh, and get off of him.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

You’re no fun. What would your dad…

What would your dad think, I start to say. But no, this is Jason, no matter how much he looks like…it hits me all at once. The fur, the small turn of his lip when he scowls, the way his voice breaks when he whines. Suddenly, I’m in motion again, grass flying beneath me as I burn through every ounce of energy in my system. I’m running from the past, I think, literally. As if I can outrun the thoughts themselves. I do one lap, two, three, starting a fourth when Jason steps out in front of me. I try to cut around him, but he lunges to stop me.

Move, I growl.

Jason shakes his head.

Detective…Parga. Calm down. What’s got into you?

Have to…have to run.

Sure. He says. Sure, but you’re starting to bleed, sir.

I taste it as soon as he says it. My tongue probes and finds a fresh trickle leaking down out of my nostrils. Damn. I sit down hard, feeling my hip drive into the ground as I shift back. That’ll leave a bruise. Jason saunters up beside me, nuzzling at my hand.

Come on, I’ll help you back to the changing room.

I hold onto the fur at the back of his neck as he walks beside me back across the field. Outside the changing room, he shifts back, placing a hand on my back. We get our stuff, toweling off as much of the sweat as we can before we slip back into our clothes. Back in the car, Jason is silent as he opens the glovebox and pulls out a wad of tissues.

“For your nose.”

“Thanks.”

He’s silent again, staring out of the windshield as we idle outside the Lycandrome. I can see his mouth working, chewing over what he should say, to help with this situation.

“You won. What do you want for lunch?” I ask.

“Graystone on 4th?”

I punch the address into the car, and it starts off into the midday traffic towards the restaurant. We’re moving, but the air around us feels so stagnant. I can’t guess what Jason is thinking, but I know even running to the point of injuring myself hasn’t erased the thoughts. I dab at my nose with a clean corner of the tissue, and it comes away without blood this time. That’s good, at least. Outside the window, the innumerable peoples of the city mingle. Bored office workers lean back in their carseats, waiting impatiently as their cars start and stop, over and over. We pass a group of school-age children meandering outside a tech-shop, eyeing a particularly spiky looking hoverboard. As we near Graystone, the buildings start to change shape. The tall office spaces, all steel and windows magnifying the sunlight a thousandfold, shrink to small brown-brick apartments and wooden townhomes. There’s families huddled together pushing strollers and throwing balls. A few ballsy teens whizz through the traffic on boards, bags still hanging from their shoulders. Soon, the car glides to a stop in between two others on the side of the road, and we step out to stand in front of the restaurant.

A host meets us at the door, a Ktonian by the green-blue tint to their skin, and ushers us to a table near the front by the windows. They introduce themselves as Hearse-on-cloudy-water, and leave us to grab a seasonal cocktail menu at my request, though they do so with a wink at Jason. The inside of the restaurant is upscale, the molding around the wall trims resembling small waves crashing over themselves to infinity, and rustic in the way the tables are each clothed in gray waxed cotton and set with a small floral arrangement. Hearse returns with the menu, but by then Jason is staring at me again, and I can’t concentrate to read. It’s that look that convinced me to take him on in the first place. He’d come looking for SCD, too young and too naïve, but that look that was like being placed on a slide under a microscanner, and it made even my skin crawl.

I end up taking whatever Hearse recommends for starters, and try to meet Jason’s fierce gaze. There’s nothing malicious behind it, but the raw scrutiny is almost callous. A rough hand shaking me for all I don’t want to say.

“Stop staring at me.”

“Not until you tell me.”

“What’s to tell? I got an urge to run, so I ran.”

Jason sighs audibly through his nose, flashing the Ktonian a quick smile as they set the drinks down and a basket of some fried vegetable or another. They leave us for a while to consider the main course. Jason takes a tentative sip of the cocktail, shrugs, and picks up a long piece from the dish. Between chewing, he still watches me. It makes my skin itch.

“What would your mom, that’s what you said before you cut yourself off.”

“I did. Can’t we drop it?”

“Probably not,” Jason sighs. “Not if you’re going to bolt on me again.”

I sigh in turn. I’ve done a lot to avoid this conversation. This…memory.

“Can I at least eat first?”

“Mm, no can do, detective. We eat, you start talking about something else, I might forget. You can order first, but then you’re going to tell me.”

I pinch my nose. He’s persistent, I give him that. He’d make a good detective yet. We eat the fried pickle spears in silence, sipping at our drinks, until Hearse returns. Jason orders himself a hefty steak, rare, and a side of grilled asparagus. I opt for a seared tuna, not sure if my stomach can handle meat between the vigorous exercise and the sheer tension emanating between the two of us. Hearse nods along, waves to a guest walking in, and goes to greet them once they’re sure we’re done ordering.

“So. Talk.” God, he sounds so serious. If I could only get him to be like this during a real interrogation, but…

“It’s a long story.”

“Don’t stall.”

I sigh. “I went to the same academy on Peligor, you know. Graduated about middle of my class, standard training, and got a job on the other side of the city, near the outskirts. I never wanted to make a name for myself.”

“But you did.”

“I didn’t have a choice. I got dragged into this line of work, teeth bared and claws digging in. I never wanted to be SCD, like you. I never wanted…this. Still wanted to prove myself though.

“Precinct got a tip that there was a feral farm about two miles out west. We went out, three officers and I, to investigate. Rolled up like we were heroes. It seemed normal from the outside, couple of hands going row to row checking the hydro-units while the farmer sat on the porch smoking. I could smell the turnips in the ground, almost ready, but there was something off. Some scent slinking beneath I couldn’t put my finger on.

“Soon as we stepped out of the cruiser, the hands stood up and watched us, not moving. The farmer tried to play it cool, but I could see him tensing up, ready to jump at a moment’s notice. Officers did their due diligence, read him his rights, told him why we were out there. Bastard had a thermoknife in his waistband none of us saw. He took the first officer down before we could even reach for our own weapons. Lucky, honestly, we were far enough away for them to draw a bead and put a charge right between his eyes as he lunged off the porch.

“The hands scattered of course. Never found them. One of the officers took care of the bodies while the other went with me into the house. Standard living. Kitchen, den, bedrooms. Then we saw the basement locked. Officer blasted the bolt right off, and we descended further. It was…I can still smell them, even now. Six near-corpses, all nailed to the floor, except the youngest who hadn’t even learned to shift yet. Their wounds were deep, too deep to survive the trip back to the city and medical help. Pus-rotted bones poked out at odd angles where they’d snapped their own legs to try and get free. The officer looked at them, looked at me, and put each of them down in turn.

“I see him in my dreams sometimes. The youngest of the bunch, long scars crossing his face where they’d cut him until they could get to his tongue. Those soulless eyes watching me as he was put out of his misery, like a fucking animal. I…I can’t…”

Jason reaches across the table to place a hand over mine. It means something. I want to stop. I want to stop having to think about this all again, but I can’t stop.

“I had a partner then, another werewolf who went by Leori. He had a son by an ex-wife, another Sangredo like you. I met Leori when his son was three, just young enough to be able to forget his mother had abandoned him. The farm case had to have been…he was twelve by then, I think. We rode back from that farm in silence, knowing none of us could erase the gore from our minds. It takes a sick mind to do that kind of shit.

“We tried to track down the hands, but of course there was no record of them or the farmer. The case went cold, and the precinct had to drink its sorrows over not being able to do anything for those six souls in the basement. It could have been over, right there. Another racial case with no evidence, filed away, but oh no. We’d stirred the nest of wasps by then.”

I feel tears wetting my cheeks. Hearse had brought the food at some point and left again, but both dishes sit untouched while I talk. It’s out of my hands now, all of it.

“The street was silent when I came home one night, eerily so. Where there were usually kids playing, people talking on the corners, there was no one. The house was quiet too, no Leori at the door followed by the smells of whatever he’d decided to cook. No son in the living room, fiddling with the holovision. I…I found them in the bedroom.”

I gag at the memory suddenly, the pungent scent of gore filling my nostrils. It’s too fresh, too real still. Jason just rubs the back of my hand gently, coaxing me through it.

“They’d found out they were connected to me. Connected to the detective trying to bring their operation to justice. Leori they’d let half-shift before pinning him to the wall through his neck. The son, my little boy…” The tears are flowing now, and a sob wracks my body. “Cory. His name was Cory. All they’d left was his head, black fur bristled around his maw, filled to the brim with clothes. His eyes, what was left of them, were stained with tears. I’m sure they made him watch.” I sniff loudly, and now I’m angry again. I feel the fur start to appear as my hand turn to paws.

“I swore then and there, I would find them. I would find every last feral farmer and make them suffer. I quit the precinct the next day and went straight to SCD. They’d been knocking on my door for a while anyway, wanting my skills on their side.”

I place a paw on Jason’s cheek, now tear-stained as well.

“You just look…so much like him, sometimes. The last time I had a race like that was…before. Before it all. Before I couldn’t turn back.”

We don’t even eat the food. Jason takes me to my apartment, and we sit on the couch together. His hand finds the space between my shoulder blades, softly stroking like I would when he was hunched over the toilet. We don’t drink. Eventually, we’re both calm enough to at least reheat some food out of the fridge and eat before we have to be at the hospital. I change my shirt, now ripped at the seams.

“We’ll find them,” Jason says from the doorway.

“I know.”

“I mean it.”

“You should be more worried about your case right now.”

“I have a feeling in my gut, call it stupid, that the two aren’t entirely separate.”

“Now that,” I say, and step past him to head to the car, “Would be nice, for once.”