Ulven watched Mao Rönn carefully. The young man was a wiry sort, all skinny muscle and lean balance. He moved with confidence usually. Not so now. His red eyes had turned wide, first in surprise, shock, alarm… yet that last emotion was curiosity, just a hint of it. Ulven smelled fear. So, the fox had been involved somehow. He watched Mao fiddle with his hair, a bush of velvety black that seemed to hold any comb in contempt.

They had caught his scent at the scene. Mao had been in the room of the now dead merchant, Isaac Borste and that had Ulven’s suspicions spinning. Yet it could be that Mao had been there the day before, or even just hours. Time was harder to tell by scent, especially with the heavy perfumes that lingered on the Red Lantern’s every board and corner. It could have been a coincidence but… Mao’s reaction had Ulven thinking otherwise. So the Hunter kept his cool while the fox reeled.

“I-… he stole something from me,” was the explanation Mao offered after a long moment of uncertain fidgeting. The lad was clever. He clearly understood that his presence near a murder would place him in a highly dangerous position. The question was how damning Mao’s part in the whole ordeal had been.

Yet theft? Ulven hadn’t expected that angle.. Theft. How did that place Mao in the brothel. Unless the theft had happened during a paid stay - no, that would have left a different, easier to place scent. A medical visit perhaps. The Red Lantern folks were regulars of Josei’s shop and both Mao and his mother did home visits for them sometimes on Riarin’s request.

Mao mistook Ulven’s silence as a sign to go on. He was eager enough to explain himself, terrified of the consequences if he did it poorly. To be a suspect in a murder case investigated by the Hunters’ Guild was not something a Wild One wanted.

“A thief,” Mao continued, “a young girl, not from around here… She grabbed a bunch of stuff from my stall at the market.”

More surprises. Wild Ones had better senses than most and Mao took tending his stall seriously enough from what Ulven had seen in the past. Which meant a thief would have struggled to grab anything without the fox noticing at once.

“How?” Ulven voiced his doubts. “You are hardly the careless sort that would miss a theft of several items.”

Mao bared his teeth in a grimace. “There was an accident at the stables. A merchant- I didn’t catch his name, his servant got hit by a hay bale falling from the loft. Broke his leg and got fired for it. Joseph sorted the merchant out while I tended to the injury. I saw the thief run off when I returned to my stall.”

It wasn’t the most unbelievable of stories. Mao hoped the headmaster believed him. He wasn’t sure what he could do if Ulven didn’t… Every thought about their previous argument had disappeared from his mind at this point. A murder… And he’d been near the dead man that same night. This didn’t look good and they both knew it. Ulven watched him carefully.

“And how do you know the thief was working for the merchant?” The old Hunter asked.

“I followed her scent at night. I just wanted my stuff back… I may have poisoned the wine…”

Ulven nodded along while imagining the events as Mao described them - then he choked on his own spit. Mao hurried to clarify,

“With ground harefoot! I just wanted to make him throw up for… well for stealing from me. It was one of the items the thief stole too. But it’s nothing dangerous! Harefoot couldn’t kill a mouse, let alone a full grown human. Unless he was allergic- oh gods…”

Mao devolved into a frantic mess, much like his mother sometimes did when the stress got to her. Had he accidentally killed someone? Did the Hunters’ Guild think he did it on purpose? Had- had it been quick? Slow? The mere thought of it had him trembling with nerves. He hadn’t meant to-

“Calm yourself lad. It wasn’t poison that got him.” Ulven put a heavy hand on Mao’s shoulder, intending it to be a calming gesture. It sort of worked. It also reminded Mao that Ulven could probably maul him in less than a second if he wanted to. The Hunters didn’t take kindly to killers in their city.

“Then- h-how…?” Mao asked. His voice shook in a way that he hated, yet it reminded him that he should try to regain his composure a bit. This was embarrassing, freaking out in front of the Guild’s headmaster.

Ulven didn’t seem to notice, nor did he answer. The old man bit his lip, eyes flashing with thought. Mao watched him anxiously, mind whirling and vow to calm down slipping once more.

“...Teeth.” Ulven said the word slowly, as if it was something he shouldn’t share. ”It bit his throat out. We’re not certain why yet…”

Mao exhaled. He hadn’t realized he’d held his breath. He felt lightheaded. This was the opposite of calm. Ulven gave his shoulder a squeeze before standing back up. Mao shuddered at the touch but the old Hunter just smiled a weary but reassuring kind of smile.

“Stay sharp and let us handle this. I suggest you go home and make sure Josei’s alright. She knows the people at the Red Lantern, right?”

For a moment Mao struggled to process Ulven’s words, then he started. He nodded dumbly, feeling as if his tongue had turned to lead when he needed it to be quick. He was too unnerved to do much more than obey, not that he had any better ideas of what to do.

Ulven watched him run off, shape blurring as the young man shifted into a fox before disappearing into the bushes. The old Hunter swept a hand down his face, hand pausing over his mouth. He thought for a moment, then sighed. This didn’t look good. Not good at all.

-

Josei nearly clocked Mao in the face with a kettle of tea. Her son had run into the shop at such speed that he probably left marks behind him on the cobblestones outside. Tulip and a confused customer watched the pair fuss over each other for a solid 5 minutes before either managed to calm down enough for coherent speech.

Tulip decided to not bother Josei while she was holding anything that could be thrown from now on. Mao just stared at the puddle of hot tea on the ground that would have hit his face if Josei’s aim had been a little bit more on point. Ironically enough, the incident helped him calm down enough to explain to Josei what had happened - after letting her shoo the customer out first of course.

“A murder?”

Mao sat in the armchair by the hearth now, watching the fire do its best at trying to eat a far too big log of firewood. Josei hovered nearby, too worked up to sit still. She was grinding herbs. Tulip sat on top of the hearth, beady eyes watching the pair.

“In the Red Lantern. I- I think Ulven thought I did it… at least until I told him why I was there.” Mao completely missed the way Josei’s eyes narrowed. He did hear the tone of her voice though.

“Why were you there? At night too.”

Mao paused at the suspicious tone of voice, then started as he saw Josei’s narrow stare. He was confused for a moment- then his face colored with embarrassment.

“To find the thief the dead merchant hired to steal from our market stall. Not for- goodness mom, no. I have no interest in the Red Lantern girls.”

Josei didn’t relent. Rather, for some reason she seemed to take offense to that- or was it suspicion still? Mao honestly couldn’t tell.

“None at all? There’s a few your age there, you know. Lovely ladies. You don’t have to… pay their services to be interested. No passing glances at all? I heard from Tobby that the pair of you like to swing by there on your little nightly runs.”

Mao was at a loss for words so he just gaped. Tulip made a purring sound of amusement. Drama, now this was why the rooster liked this place. Drama and free food. And the warm hearth. And cheek skritches and banter and- well, there were many reasons to like living with the Rönns.

“We go there for the booze-” Mao desperately tried to steer his mother’s assumptions in another direction. Yet as such conversations often went, every turn had a hidden trap.

“You’re drinking again? What did I say about moderation. Just because you’re 18 summers now doesn’t mean you can turn into a drunkard.”

“Mom, only sometimes. And we take it easy!” Mao protested.

“Do you drink enough water while you’re there? Eat? I swear to Mother Wolf if you pick fights…”

“Mom… Can we focus on the murder, please…”

Josei huffed. Mao wondered if Katja acted like this around Tobby. Tobby was twice as bad as Mao when it came to drinking. Mao didn’t like the taste much but he enjoyed the company of hanging out at a bar with his friends. Josei thought he was turning into a lout caught in the cups.

“Yes, yes… just, why not Karl Brewer’s place? That man’s a good one. He sells good stuff. The Red Light District has so many…”

“Travellers?”

Josei made a grimace. “No, not them, it’s the bartenders. They know they can get away with selling people more than they should there- tourists are easy prey.”

“It’s not like we’re visiting the Lucky Lady-”

Mao should not have mentioned the bar known for its… somewhat shady clientele. The Lucky Lady had a reputation for harboring Red Light’s most rowdy patrons. Josei would chew Mao’s ears off if she ever heard he’d been there.

“Goodness no, I wouldn’t have it. But yes, the murder… Oh gods above and below, were you really involved? Tell me you didn’t know- why was he killed? By who? Do they know?”

Mao tried to interject in between the rapid stream of questions, finding only worry and building unease with each attempt.

“I just took the merchandise he stole back, just that.”

“Only that?”

“...andmaybeIpoisonedthewine…” Mao tried to cover that last bit with a cough. Josei stared him down.

“You did WHAT?!”

Dramatic times. Mao sometimes wondered what would have happened if Josei had joined the Hunters’ Guild. She’d mentioned considering it way back. Something related to that elf with the craddle… Scary thought that, a Hunter Josei.

Tulip watched the nattering, the banter, and general chatter until it wasn’t dramatic enough to keep him awake. He wasn’t too bothered by missing the end of it. He knew full well that it would have a continuation at some point. Both Josei and Mao were terrible at leaving a simmering issue be.

-

Mao should have given the Red Light District a wide berth after finding out about the murder. He really should have stayed home, picked up some work, and sat his ass down by the hearth for the rest of the night. Maybe tag along with Tobby on a quick run… See what Joseph was up to.

He should not be sneaking around the Red Lantern, trying to find a way into the rafters from the outside. Definitely not.

“Yet here I am…” Mao whispered to himself, unknowingly fulfilling a certain rooster’s prophecy.

He was sitting on a beam just beneath the roof on the outside of the brothel, peeking through the loft lattice-work that let him see into the Red Lantern’s main corridor. It was a long twisting affair that led all the way from the lobby on the building’s front to the back where a spiraling staircase led up to the second floor. Along the corridor stood doors, paperscreens, ornate windows showing hints of larger rooms meant for feasts and dancing, and sometimes ways out onto the terrace or the small rose gardens outside.

Mao was distinctly aware that this was not the place to be for someone who the Hunters’ Guild headmaster himself had asked ‘were you involved?’

Hunters were all over the place so Mao was in his fox shape, form sleek and nimble and just quick enough to stay out of sight. After a short battle of curiosity against self-preservation, the latter caved and the fox squeezed through the wooden lattice and into the building.

He’d bought a perfume bottle from one of the street stalls, open even now in the evening before most of the nightly crowd would turn up, doused himself in the strong floral scent to mask his own earthy musk, then decided to pay the Red Lantern a visit to see what was going on.

Precautions to aid an incredibly bad idea. Mao regretted it now, skin prickling with the fear of being caught - but he just had to know. So he crept along the highest rafters, ears swiveling to catch every sound from the people below. The light of the thematically colored red lanterns didn’t reach him up there near the high ceiling, and his dark pelt let him meld with the shadows almost perfectly.

Though not foolproof, the perfume did trick the Hunters investigating the place into ignoring it, thinking it to be one of the workers a lingering whiff from some guest. Yet they were searching for scent trails. Most played it off well enough, but anyone knowing what to look for could catch the occasional flare of a nostril or a crease to the bridge of their nose as they caught something they didn’t like.

The Red Lantern staff were following the Hunters around, lovely faces set with worry. Though hesitant, they were playing their role of guides well, offering information about rooms, layout, vague details about anonymous customers… Trying to help as much as they could. Fear was in the air. Mao could smell it clearly.

He could also smell the blood.

He didn’t enter the room the merchant had died in, he didn’t have to. The smell of iron and sweat hung in the air like a cloying blanket. A sharp hint as to what had happened. Mao thought he could see a few stains of dark red from his perch high up in the rafters. The Hunter’s leather boots and the red lattice window above the paper doors was making it hard to see much of the room, but Mao was certain that he saw a distinct hint of blood. He strained his ears to listen.

“-led here, here, and here,-”

“-comes back?”

“-wine bottle, where-”

Snippets of conversation. Mao’s muzzle crinkled in frustration. There were too many sounds in this place for him to hone in on one single conversation properly. Still, it didn’t look good. He caught the word ‘fox’ being mentioned in several places, even saw a Hunter use the sign for it, a circle made with the thumb and index finger, other fingers splayed out. The circle was held in front of the nose and rotated twice, indicating a snout.

“Not good, not good, not good…” Mao felt his fur rising from his unease. Why did they suspect a fox? Because he’d been there? He hadn’t done it!

He had to leave. His worries were spiking and he didn’t trust his balance to endure for much longer with the way his legs were shaking. If he slipped from the rafters and got caught it would be the end of him.

Mao made for the loft window, ears struck back and tail held low. He made it out through the red lattice work- and something grabbed his tail. With an instinctive snarl, Mao spun around to bite whatever had caught him. His teeth found a wad of wet cloth. The taste hit him only after he’d locked his jaw.

A tangy sweet taste- owleye? The herbal sedative hit Mao like a horse-drawn cart. Someone grabbed the scruff of his neck as he passed out.

-

Mao woke up to the smell of something vile. A sour, bitter scent that invaded his nostrils and tore him from the arms of sleep with one swift wrenching motion. He woke with a start, gagging, and the hand holding the vile smelling rag beneath his nose pulled back.

The fox’s hackles rose, his snout crinkled into a snarl of disgust- then his red eyes grew wide as he took in his new surroundings. No longer was he behind the Red Lantern, hiding from the keen noses of the Hunters’ Guild. His fur still smelled like cheap perfume, a diluted but potent fragrance of flowers. The room he found himself in smelled like dry leather and burning coals.

A furnace whispered at the back of the room, flickering flames illuminating stacks of crates, dark wooden walls, and a floor made up of large stone bricks. The simple floor was familiar in material and its mason’s pattern, but it lacked that uneven surface of Redlog’s paved streets. Something had worn the surface flat, then impossibly smooth, as if someone had taken a great many years to slowly sand it all down.

Mao could smell old blood hiding in the few remaining crevices present in the stone floor, mostly near the corners of the room, and where the ground ended and the walls started. The smell was the first thing he focused on, the second was the man.

A slim figure stood in front of him, garbed in a simple but tasteful service-work uniform. A grey vest, a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Black pants and neat leather shoes. A bartender. There wasn’t anything startling about a bartender, even if you happened to wake up in front of one in a poorly lit room that smelled of old bloodshed, despite careful attempts to clean the traces away.

What startled Mao was the man’s coloration. His skin was pale, nearly white, an almost sickly shade that reminded the fox of smooth pebbles sometimes found near the river, or the carefully tended pearls of rich jewelry. His hair was a shade paler yet, snow white and as smooth as a polished blade. It shone where the light of the furnace touched it. The room was swelteringly hot.

Mao would have complained if the stranger hadn’t held him with his eyes. They were yellow. Not golden, not amber. A stark, piercing, yellow. His pupils were narrow slits, no wider than a blade of grass. They dilated as Mao watched, widening into oval shapes that would have looked human enough if you didn’t look too closely.

People often found Mao to be of a rather slender build. Slim, graceful, a body fit for dexterity rather than brute strength. The stranger embodied that sentiment even more. He was tall, his limbs were long and narrow, yet they didn’t lack for strength. The bartender stood back with a kind of hidden power, coiled and ready to strike, as if every move was carefully calculated. A cat ready to strike, yet… slower, somehow. More controlled. Careful without any loss of confidence. No wasted movement. A predator.

The bartender folded the stained napkin he’d used to wake Mao up, then stuffed it away into a backpocket. He didn’t break eye contact with the black fox sprawled on his stone floor. Mao spotted a black tattoo circling the stranger’s neck as he spoke, a sharp contrast against the pale skin. His voice was as smooth as the floor, deep enough to touch your bones.

“Awake again? Good. What were you doing in the Red Lantern? Answer me honestly and we won’t be here for long.”

Mao blinked. For a moment he debated pretending to be a regular animal. Perhaps he should hiss? Growl and back up? How would a normal fox react to being trapped in a room with a strange human? Mao bared his teeth as he got to his paws, fur rising and head kept low, ears struck back.

The stranger wasn’t phased by the display. He frowned, a faint crease appearing between his dark eyebrows. He had a rather pretty face, beautiful even, if Mao had felt like flattering his captor. The bartender moved so fast that Mao nearly missed it.

It was a somewhat familiar motion, a flowing lunge, shape blurring like a stream of water. It wasn’t aimed at Mao, but he still flinched. The shift bore the stranger to the side in a wide circle, coiling around the caught fox into a loose loop of white scales. The hiss that came next was as low as a whisper, yet it came from every direction at once.

The giant snake filled the room, easily as wide as a grown man’s arms if he held them as far out to the sides as he could. Perhaps wider, because when the snake raised its head, it had to loom down to not scrape against the ceiling. The smooth stone bricks made sense then, as giant scales slithered across them until the beast was settled around its captive.

“Let us skip the posturing, I’m of a short temper. What, were you doing, in the Red Lantern?” A tongue as thick as a human’s arm flickered out to taste the air. It nearly touched Mao’s snout. The fox stood frozen. A hiss of frustration vibrated through the wall of scales that surrounded him. There was nowhere to run and the snake could swallow him whole without even needing to unhinge its jaw-

And just like that, the stranger turned back. It was as quick as the first shift and it left Mao just as wide eyed. He felt his heart trying to hammer its way out of his ribcage. His breathing came in short, shallow breaths. The stranger settled in front of Mao once more, assuming the same slow, almost lazy posture as before. His eyes burrowed into Mao’s soul.

“Speak,” he said.

Mao tried, coughed out a rattled growl, then jumped back in fright, a reaction so delayed it was almost comical. The stranger- the snake, didn’t laugh. Thought and emotion came back in a rush, flooding the fox’s senses like a wave of nausea. He stumbled to the side, heaved, then pawed at his face until the mask appeared and fell off.

The bartender lifted a lip in disgust as Mao reverted to his human form and promptly threw up on his floor. Why couldn’t interrogations ever be easy and clean… He made to waltz over and give the young man a swift kick to the gut, figuring that that should set him straight-

But before he could do just so, someone knocked on the door behind Mao. The now human shaped fox was too busy heaving to notice.

“Gin? Can I come in?”

The bartender- Gin, sighed.

“He’s hurling. Mind your step.”

The door opened and a familiar face entered the dimly lit room. Mao could have thrown himself at her feet in relief, but felt that it would have been a bit too desperate… Not that he had a lot of dignity left at this point.

Riarin Ros, owner of the Red Lantern, entered the room. She eyed Mao for a moment- then recognized him. She started, caught between wariness and wanting to rush over and help him up. Gin just glared at the young man.

“Hardly a jaded killer, but even cowards can go for easy prey.” Gin exhaled audibly and rubbed at his neck, frustration evident on his face. It was the first sign of real emotion he’d shown so far. It took the snake a moment to notice Riarin’s reaction. “Do you know him?”

Mao sat back and wiped at his mouth, took one look at Gin… and barely managed not to feel sick again. He felt like he’d stared death in the eye there for a moment… Did things die the moment a snake swallowed it? Or did they remain alive until they… Mao crawled backwards, putting a pitiful amount of distance between himself and the snake. Riarin came to the rescue, but hesitantly. Why was she so wary of him? They’d known each other since Mao was a toddler!

“He’s Josei’s boy.” Riarin explained. She said the words slowly and watched Mao’s face with such a pained frown that it made him feel a bit betrayed. “I… is it him?” Riarin turned an anxious look towards Gin. The bartender kept his eyes on Mao.

“Hm… I’m not sure. His smell is at the scene.”

Riarin stood back up and folded her arms, confidence slowly rebuilding itself. She didn’t meet Mao’s eyes. Instead she lifted one hand to cover her mouth, brow furrowed in thoughtful concern. After a quiet moment of pondering, her golden eyes locked back on the young medicine maker.

Mao looked from one to the other, feeling his mouth go dry despite his belly’s earlier eviction of his lunch. The taste of bile was sharp in his mouth. He had a… faint feeling he knew what they were talking about. It was about the murdered merchant, wasn’t it? Gin confirmed it the next moment.

The bartender stepped closer, a silent warning in the way he moved, a threat of violence hiding in the set of his shoulders. “Isaac Borste. Does it ring a bell?”

Mao blinked despite himself. “The- that’s the dead merchant.”

“Bingo. Now why don’t you tell us why you killed him.”

Mao frowned then flinched as Gin tasted the air in front of his face, cloven tongue darting out with a flicker.

“I-I didn’t do it! It wasn’t me- the Hunters’ Guild already asked. I was only there to take back something that was stolen!” A hint of indignation crept into Mao’s voice. One could only stomach being wrongly accused for murder so many times in one day.

Gin narrowed his eyes, tasted the air again- Mao really wished he would stop doing that- then stood back again.

“I don’t smell blood on him. He could have cleaned it away but trances tend to linger.”

While Gin’s distrusting words irritated Mao, they seemed to have a calming effect on Riarin. With a sigh of relief she exhaled, shoulders un-hunching as a result. “I’ll trust your word on that. He doesn’t strike me as a man-eater.”

Mao wanted to pipe up with something, defend that he definitely wasn’t one to go about eating people - but one sharp stare from Gin made him shrink back in silence.

“His nerves would match a newer one’s behavior,” the bartender mused.

“You make most people nervous,” Riarin shot back.

“Only the smart ones.”

“Mh-hm…” Gin’s hum didn’t sound entirely convinced.

The pair hummed and hawed. Mao just stared, feeling out of place. Why… why was he here? “Erh- it wasn’t me that killed the merchant if that’s… if that’s what you’re asking. Ask Ulven Jägare.”

Gin frowned at the headmaster’s name. Riarin shot the pale man a knowing glance, then turned fully to Mao.

“Explain what you were doing in Isaac’s room.”

Mao did. He had to fill them in on the happenings at the market to give full context, which made the explanation far longer, but both obliged him with attentive silence.

Gin’s expression didn’t change much, other than going slightly blank at the end. Riarin’s on the other hand shifted between a rush of emotions. Surprise, worry, concern, condemnation at the merchant’s attitude, begrudging acceptance at his presence in her brothel, then lastly a… guilty satisfaction at his demise.

She hid that last part with the sleeve of her dress, brow furrowing in an effort to show the situation the serious distaste it deserved. Nasty personality or not, Isaac had been murdered. No one deserved that.

Riarin believed Mao when he said he was innocent. It was enough of a relief to make the young man want to laugh. He didn’t, mostly because he had a feeling it would undo much of his effort in proving his innocence.

Feeling somewhat confident that Gin wouldn’t swallow him whole anytime soon, Mao tried to fish for some information on the murder. Terrified or not, he was curious.

To his dismay, both Gin and Riarin stayed tight lipped, much like Ulven had. With the headmaster, Mao had been too struck by the news to think much of it, but these two made it rather obvious that they knew more than they were willing to share.

“Belly ripped open. Gutted and dead within seconds.” Gin’s cold explanation about how Isaac had died was grizzly - and it contradicted what Ulven had told Mao.

He caught it and nearly spoke up, but while it was tempting to mention the lie to see if they would build on it… He decided to keep quiet for now. Someone was lying, and he wasn’t sure why. Were they lying to each other too? The watch? Surely Riarin would have known the true details of the merchant’s death since it happened in her brothel. An employee or guest probably stumbled upon the scene and Mao was sure your average person would not have let such a detail disappear in the panic.

“Why?” Mao asked, distracted by his own thoughts.

Riarin blinked. “Why? The murder you mean? It’s ah… being investigated,”

The madam of the Red Lantern smoothed over the lapse in her composure by fixing a loose strand of blood red hair. She’d had it made up into a loose bun, golden decorations held it in place. They gleamed like secrets in the dim light from the furnace. She must have rushed here directly from work, because she didn’t usually wear as eye-catching stylings as these while out and about.

“Any clues so far? The merchant didn’t seem like a pleasant fellow, but murder is going a bit too far…”

Riarin nodded her somber agreement. Gin folded his arms, blank expression betraying nothing, which was a tad alarming in of itself. Mao decided to push his luck.

“I heard the Hunters’ Guild thinks a Wild One did it. A… fox. How do they know that?”

A frown showed Riarin’s trouble in answering the question. The bartender came to her rescue, a hint of accusation in his tone as he stared Mao down.

“They smelled a fox’s presence at the scene. It might not have been the killer, but you left enough of a mark behind for them to notice.”

Mao winced. Yet before he could continue prying answers out of the pair, Riarin spoke up.

“Perhaps it’s best you return home for now, Mao. While I appreciate you wanting to help out, we have both our own and the Hunters’ Guild investigating the matter. Well intended or not, others nosing around will only serve to muddle what few clues we have.”

She said it in such a polite way, complete with a smile and nod of approval of what she must have assumed were good intentions. A stark contrast to Gin practically throwing Mao out. The bartender herded him out the door into what turned out to be an actual bar - though none Mao had ever been in, and he’d been in most by now- then out the front doors. Plural, Gin had 4 doors for the main entrance.

The first set was the usual rough but sturdy set that most commoner buildings in Redlog employed, the second was more ornate, a pair of polished doors about half the height of a normal set, hung up so they could swing back and forth as people pushed through them. They clacked slightly as they rocked back and forth after Mao stumbled past them.

Gin didn’t quite slam the bigger set of doors shut, but there was certainly a sort of ‘I’ll kick the ass of anyone trying to open these back up’ vibe going on. Mao thought Shika and Gin might get along well- or murder each other within minutes if their tempers didn’t match up.

Warned twice in the same day to stay out of this murder mystery, Mao reluctantly went home to lay low. Neither the Hunters nor the Red Light people wanted him to butt into this matter, and Gin for one had demonstrated that he was perfectly willing to get the scales out if people pushed the matter too far.

Still, Mao didn’t like this one bit. Surely the Hunters’ would know his scent by now. Why would they still be thinking a fox was the culprit if Ulven thought Mao was innocent? And why lie about the cause of death? Something here wasn’t lining up.

He could lay low for a little bit, just for long enough that they wouldn’t be on the lookout for him when he returned to nose around some more.