Meeting the Team

The Ridgecliff Police Station loomed ahead, a squat, brick building framed by the dim glow of streetlights. Its modest size was deceptive, the walls housing the pulse of law and order for the entire town. Brendon eyed it warily as they approached, his ears twitching at the faint hum of fluorescent lights bleeding through the windows.

Next door, an apartment complex stood shadowed in the evening gloom. It was practical—nothing fancy—but the lights in the windows suggested warmth and the smell of cooking lingered in the air. Devina paused, one gloved hand gesturing at the building.

"That's where you'll be staying," she said crisply. "Top floor, corner room. Decent view of the station and the street."

Brendon followed her gaze, taking in the brick facade and narrow balconies. "Convenient," he murmured, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

Devina smirked. "Don't thank me. Mayor's orders."

Brendon's mouth twitched. "Wouldn't dream of it."

She gave a small, humorless chuckle, her tail flicking once before she turned sharply on her heel and strode up the police station steps. Brendon sighed and followed, boots scuffing against the stone.

---

The Investigation Team

The station's interior was bright and sterile, all polished floors and utilitarian desks. Phones rang sporadically, officers milled about with clipboards and coffee, and the hum of printers filled the air. Brendon took it all in, noting exits, cameras, and faces with the ease of long practice.

Devina led him down a corridor, heels clicking sharply. They stopped at a glass-walled room labeled "Investigation Division" in neat block letters. Inside, five figures were gathered around a digital board displaying a rough map of the eastern district.

"Your team," Devina said, voice cool and businesslike.

Brendon's ears twitched. "Let's get this over with."

The door swung open, and conversation cut off mid-sentence. Five pairs of eyes shifted to the wolf in the doorway. Brendon met their gazes evenly, used to the flicker of distrust, the narrowed eyes, the stiffened postures.

Devina cleared her throat. "Sheriff Brendon Wolf," she announced, her tone brooking no argument. "Get used to it."

A tall, broad-shouldered bull snorted, arms folded across his chest. His brown eyes were hard and assessing. Victor Tyson, Brendon guessed—the field investigator and head of investigations. The badge on his belt glinted under the lights.

Next to him stood a stocky Komodo dragon in a stained lab coat—Scott Wright, head of forensics, if Brendon had to bet. Scott's golden eyes flicked over Brendon, cold but analytical.

A human woman with sharp eyes and dark hair tied back in a ponytail leaned casually against the digital board, fingers tapping impatiently against her thigh. The ID tag on her hip read "Sofie Lee—Tech Department." She raised a brow at Brendon, eyes glinting with curiosity.

Two more figures hovered by the back wall—a gray-furred gazelle with nervous eyes and a young face, and a weathered human officer whose eyes were weary but watchful. Judith Kay and Bronson Smith, respectively. Both had the look of people who'd seen a long day get longer.

Victor's nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed. "A wolf," he growled, the words heavy with disdain. "Great. That's just what we needed."

Brendon's expression remained impassive, but his eyes hardened. "Pleasure's all mine," he deadpanned.

Devina sighed. "Tyson, a word."

Victor scowled but jerked his head at the rest of the team. "Back to it," he snapped. "We've got a case to solve."

---

The Meeting

Once Devina had left the room, Victor leaned against the desk, eyes fixed on Brendon with the wary disdain of a bull sizing up a wolf in the pasture.

"I don't like this," Victor growled. "A wolf with a badge is bad news. Don't care what the mayor says."

Brendon's jaw tightened, but he forced his voice to remain steady. "I didn't ask for this either, Mr. Tyson. But we've got a dead kid on our hands. So maybe focus on that instead of my fur."

Victor's nostrils flared, but before he could snap back, Sofie chuckled. "He's got a point," she said, smirking. "Body's not gonna examine itself."

Scott grunted in agreement, flicking a forked tongue absently. "Kid didn't jump," he muttered. "Too much force on impact, bone fractures too severe for a simple fall."

Victor turned sharply. "What makes you so sure?"

Brendon stepped forward, ignoring the way Victor's eyes narrowed. "Saw it myself," he said, tone clipped. "Fingertips were bloody, nails cracked. He tried to grab something on the way down—didn't jump willingly."

Scott's eyes glinted with interest. "Observant."

Victor snorted. "So what?" he scoffed. "Kid got spooked and slipped."

Brendon's eyes narrowed. "Railing was bent outward," he countered. "Not the kind of damage a kid falling could cause. He was pushed."

The room fell silent, eyes flicking between Brendon and Victor. Judith's eyes were wide, and Bronson scratched his chin thoughtfully.

Victor's glare could've melted ice. "You're sure," he bit out.

Brendon met his eyes without flinching. "Certain."

Victor held his gaze for a moment longer, nostrils flaring, before he growled. "Fine. Scott, ID the body and cause of death. Sofie, get into the kid's phone—find anything useful. Bronson, Judith, with me. We're heading back to the scene."

He glared at Brendon. "You," he barked. "Stay here."

Brendon's lips twitched into something that might've been a smirk. "Whatever you say, boss."

Victor growled something unintelligible and stormed out, Judith and Bronson hurrying after him. Sofie snorted, fingers already flying across her tablet. "Well, that went well," she muttered dryly.

Brendon huffed. "Seen worse."

---

The Apartment

Devina who was outside the police station, led him out of the station without a word, though her eyes flicked to him every few steps. Brendon followed in silence, boots scuffing against the polished floors, ears twitching at the muffled buzz of phones and printers.

They crossed the street to the apartment complex, the faint glow of the station lights filtering through the trees. Devina unlocked the front door and gestured him inside, heels clicking softly on the tiled floor.

They took the stairs to the top floor, Devina's tail flicking idly behind her. Brendon's eyes roamed the walls, noting peeling wallpaper, the scent of lemon cleaner, the hum of a radiator.

She stopped at a door at the end of the hall and handed him a key. "Top floor, corner room," she said, tone brisk. "It's… basic, but it'll do for now."

Brendon took the key, claws brushing hers briefly. Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she said nothing.

He unlocked the door and stepped inside, flicking the light switch. The apartment was small but serviceable—a bed against the wall, a worn armchair, a narrow kitchen. Dust motes danced in the light.

Devina watched him impassively from the doorway. "Try not to get shot," she said dryly.

Brendon smirked. "I'll do my best."

Her eyes glinted with something almost like amusement, but she turned sharply on her heel and strode away, tail flicking once before the door swung shut behind her.

Brendon huffed a sigh, running a paw through his fur. He moved to the window, watching the streetlights flicker, the shadows stretching long and dark across the cobblestones.

"Welcome to Ridgecliff," he muttered, voice a low growl.