The Hound in Paris

LA Santé Prison, Paris, France.

The morning air was crisp and stifling. The outer yard of the high-security wing was encased in concrete and steel fencing, with narrow slits for sunlight to creep in. The walls had the same scent Brendon remembered from a year ago when they locked him up: old metal, disinfectant, and fear soaked into stone.

He sat on a bench, back straight, claws resting on his knees. His yellow eyes scanned the walls. A year in LA Santé had stripped nothing from his body— he had kept himself sharp, strong, aware. But inside... inside something had hardened.

No one spoke to him here. In the beginning, there had been whispers. "Loup tueur," they'd called him. The killer wolf. Some tried to test him— until the first one lost a finger. After that, they gave him space.

Brendon's ears twitched as a pair of crows landed on the perimeter fence, their cawing sharp in the cold air. The guards ignored them. He didn't.

A year. One year since he tore Grimm's skull apart and ended that nightmare on Lagooncrest Island. The blood had stuck under his nails, even long after it was scrubbed away.

Why the hell did they let me live?

The French Armed Forces found him unconscious at the edge of the ruins. Grimm's corpse mutilated. The lab in shambles. Several soldiers had almost opened fire, fearing a feral anthro gone rogue. But someone called it off.

They didn't put him through trial. Instead, they offered him a deal.

Brendon flexed his claws slowly, watching the scars over his knuckles stretch.

Yeah... a fucking deal.

His ears drooped slightly as memories began to play. The moment that set this all in motion.

---

Flashback: Two Weeks Ago.

The cold room buzzed with artificial lighting. Fluorescent bulbs hummed overhead, giving the room a sterile feel. A long table stood in the center with two chairs. Brendon, in his prison uniform, sat on one. His hands were cuffed to the table.

Across from him sat Annie Renneté, Directeur Général of the French National Police. A woman in her late thirties, with auburn hair tied into a sleek bun and gray eyes like sharpened blades. She wore a tailored navy-blue suit, a badge pinned proudly over her heart.

She was unimpressed.

"Your file is... I should say.... colorful indeed," she said, flipping a page and glancing at him without tilting her head. "Brendon Wolf. British citizen. Wolf anthro. Arrested in London for the suspected murder of one Cedric Laine, though the charge was eventually downgraded to second-degree assault and involuntary manslaughter. Five years in prison."

Brendon didn't respond. His tail flicked once behind him.

"Released early for good behavior. Assigned to Ridgecliff under a government rehabilitation project. Sheriff. You were rebuilding a life, weren't you?"

"Yeah I did so," he said plainly. "Until Grimm....."

Annie closed the folder. "Dr. Vaelrick Grimm. Bioengineer. War criminal in the making, we believe. You murdered him—"

"He wasn't human anymore," Brendon snapped. "He chose what he became."

Annie smiled faintly, testing his temper. "Yes. That's what your file says. Along with some disturbing details about claw marks across the victim's skull. Brain extracted from the cranium. Bones shattered."

Brendon's yellow eyes narrowed. "Are you here to throw me in a deeper cell?"

Annie leaned forward. "No. I'm here to offer you a job."

He blinked.

She placed a different folder in front of him. "Ten years ago, we began tracking a serial murderer known as the Bleeding Eye. At first, we believed it was ritualistic. Then we found overlapping evidence pointing to military experimentation, mind control, and unnatural resilience in the victims. It's been ten years, still we barely got any clue about that psycho. But as your per your track record in Ridgecliff as Sheriff and also in Lagooncrest, I believe you can actually crack thus case for us."

Brendon didn't open the file. He stared at her instead. "Why me?"

Annie's eyes narrowed slightly. "Because the Bleeding Eye killing is like an angry wild anthro just like you."

Silence.

She continued, "You survived the terror back in Lagooncrest Isle. That's something no other asset could do. We're not looking for a clean soldier. We're looking for a monster who can hunt monsters."

His lip curled. "So I'm a weapon now. For you guys?"

"You can pretend you're not," she said sharply, "but that doesn't change what you are. What you can do."

There was a pause.

Then Annie leaned back in her chair. "The deal is simple. We let you out. No charges. No public prosecution. In exchange, you will help us solve the Bleeding Eye case. And if you walk away... I'll make sure no one remembers your name. You'll vanish under red tape. Forever."

Brendon stared down at the file.

"…When do I start?"

---

Present

"Oi, mutt," came a familiar voice. It was the warden. A fat man with a lazy eye and a cigar stub always stuck to his lip. "It's your time to get your ass out."

Brendon looked up, ears twitching. The chains came off for the last time.

He walked down the corridor slowly, his boots clanking against the metal floor. Inmates pressed their faces to the bars, watching silently as the wolf anthro walked free after 365 days.

His nose twitched slightly as the front gate opened and the morning sun spilled onto his fur.

Freedom smelled different now.

Two black cars were parked near the outer gate. From the driver's side of one, a crocodile anthro with short hair, sunglasses, and a bright green Hawaiian shirt under a blazer waved with a wide grin.

"Brendon Wolf?" he said. "Name's Christopher Canessane, junior detective. And your official babysitter. You must be the brooding badass I read about in the reports."

Brendon just blinked at him.

Christopher snorted. "Not a talker, huh? Good. Means I get to enjoy the silence while we head to the HQ."

Brendon climbed into the back seat. As the car pulled away from the prison and took to the cobbled streets of Paris, he let his eyes close for the first time in weeks.

This wasn't freedom anyone would imagine.

This was another hunt for him.