It was the sort of night meant for trouble. Brooke could almost taste it on
the air. She had her hands balled in the pockets of her leather jacket, her
hair smelling of time and smoke. She’d just gotten back from a trip from
Grendel to make a deal with a certain peevish system lord named Paschka
so she could negotiate a field trip there for a group of students from Luna.
Now, she was going back to her office in London for a long night of studying
a murder victim’s corpse in hopes of finding some clue that might tell her how
they had died.
Her mind was full of case notes, dates, and numbers as she walked down the
darkened street. That didn’t stop her sharp ears from picking up footsteps -
a peculiarly long gait - and the sound of someone else’s breathing.
She kept walking, and the noise persisted.
Then, she stopped in the street, her nose flaring, as if trying to smell where
the other person was. Her hand moved to the colt pistol at her thigh, the
metal reassuring beneath her fingertips. Concealed carry was illegal at
this point in time in London, but that didn’t stop Brooke one bit.
“I can hear you. Show yourself.”
Her office wasn’t far, but she didn’t fancy running. Especially if it was one
of Paschka’s goons.
