AN: I may forget to upload this story since I barely visit this site anymore. For regular updates, formtting, comments that I can actually answer to, and a site that isn't a smouldering trash fire, please visit me on AO3 (Archiveofourown) I would post the link if I could. The username is the same.

Special Agent Reynauld Maurouard couldn't say that filling out forms was his favourite occupation, but paperwork was a necessary evil when you worked in law enforcement. When a shadow fell over him, blocking out the light, he put down his pen and straightened. Reynauld could have sworn that he could hear as well as feel some disks in his back pop into place. Or out of it. Something to worry about later.

"How's it going?" the man leaning on his desk asked, a faint smile playing around his mouth as he surveyed the battlefield that was Reynauld's workspace.

"How'd you think?" Reynauld grunted, rubbing his hands over his face until he saw stars. For the past hour the letters had been running together, but he needed to finish this before tomorrow or he'd have his superiors breathing down his neck. "I'm elbows deep in reports."

"Ain't we all?" Guyot asked. In the clinically cold light of the neon lamps the dark circles around his eyes were all the more prominent, and his freckles were a stark contrast to his pale skin. He looked just as exhausted as Reynauld felt.

As if he had read his thoughts, Guyot lifted a silver can, giving it an inviting swirl, and instantly the rich aroma of roasted beans permeated the stale office air. "Coffee?"

When he saw Reynauld hesitating, he was quick to add, "It's good, I tested it. On Marci." Guyot looked around, guilt written all over his face, but in the end he just shrugged and grinned sheepishly.

Reynauld chuckled. When some higher ups had thought it a great idea to put the PD and forensics in the same building – talk about corruption – and some of the doctors were evidently as mentally unstable as the criminals they pursued, caution saved you from getting yourself into a lot of trouble. "Is she still among the living?"

"Aye, the living and the conscious," Guyot replied easily.

"Then yes, please." Reynauld had to shift some folders to find his mug buried underneath them and held it out for Guyot to fill.

Which he did, right up to the brim, eying some of the papers strewn all over the desk in the process. "What'cha got here? Montgomery case?"

"M-hmm," Reynauld hummed and took a sip of scalding hot fermented–bean–juice. He closed his eyes for a moment to savour it.

"What a shitshow," Guyot observed. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad we got him. Just because the man was in politics and old money, don't mean he's above justice." He stopped; they'd talked more than their fair share about it. The case had been all over the news for weeks, and by now everybody who had worked on it was fed up with it. It was time to wrap it up and to move on.

"Anyway, the guys wanna know if you're coming to the track run. We're up against the boys from Eastside distinct."

Track run. That rang a bell. Reynauld frowned; he had quite forgotten about the charity event. "When's it?"

"Next weekend."

"I can't," Reynauld replied and didn't have to fake the regret. Those competition between departments were usually a lot of fun and a good way to get to know new people, make some contacts. "Thio's over, and I promised him we'll go camping."

"Aw, damn. We're losing our best man." But Guyot said it with a smile. He knew how much those weekends meant to Reynauld. "How is the big man?"

"Growing bigger every day." The thought of his son never failed to put a smile on Reynauld's face. "I can't believe he's about to turn eight. Eve wanted to have a party. You're invited of course, provided you can stand a horde of children high on sugar.

"You know I'd never miss out, and Lucy's been wanting to visit anyway. We'll pop in, say hi, and evac if it gets too bad." Guyot laughed and Reynauld had to join in. Fair was fair. They had served in the army together, and when they had quit the force it had been his friend's contacts that had given Reynauld a job here in the city.

"Chin up, soldier. One more week and it's over," Guyot said. "Maybe the chief's even gonna give you a promotion!"

Reynauld snorted at the thought, which should be answer enough. If you couldn't find pride in the police work but wanted praise, you had to join the K-9 units. As a dog. On most days, Reynauld did enjoy it; doing something good, something useful. He thanked Guyot for the offering of artificial energy that would get him through the evening and waved when the other man took his leave.

Just a few more hours, and he'd be able to go home. Put a lid on the whole thing and give himself a pat on the shoulder. From a framed picture, one of the few private possessions he kept at work, Reynauld's family was smiling at him.

He sighed and picked up his pen again.

Reynauld wished a person could refuel on good mood like a vehicle could on gasoline, because Monday came cloaked in chaos, like a true harbinger of a bad week.

Over the weekend, he had taken Thio out of the city and to a natural preserve that had a nice lake and easy trails. Maybe when his son was older, Reynauld would be able to take him hiking in the Hinterlands, but that would be in a couple of years at the earliest.

Now, he was running late for work since his alarm had given up on life sometime in the middle of the night. Thanks to years of military service and an affinity for the early morning hours, he still managed to wake almost on time. Maintenance works on the train rails forced him to take his car however, and he promptly found himself stuck in an unmoving column of other unfortunate souls braving the morning traffic.

When he had finally made it to the intersection, he almost had an accident when some idiot on a motorbike ran a red light and cut him off, disappearing between a delivery van and a taxi before Reynauld had a chance to catch his plate number.

The rest of the drive passed without incident, thankfully. The RPD, the Riverside Police Department, was located some two miles outside of the city center, and just about ten walking minutes from the Riverside train station. The building had a long history, beginning with it originally being built as a summer residence for Emperor Harauld. Since then it had served as university, a hospital, and finally the casern it was to this day.

There was nothing inherently inviting about the grey and cheerless stonework, but it was far from the worst place to work. In the large courtyard, Barristan had some sweaty-looking recruits in training clothes lined up. Reynauld returned the wave the one-eyed drill sergeant greeted him with, and hurried on.

As soon as he pulled open the door, he was struck by the lack of usual activity. The quiet of the waiting room was disturbed only by the hum of the ceiling fan, its blades rotating lazily. The air was thick with the smells of stale coffee and smoke, even though smoking inside had been prohibited by law several years ago. Underlying those was a faint odour of office: a less-than enticing mix of sweat, paper, and cleaning agents.

There was nobody seated behind the two front desks, and that was unusual enough to make Reynauld double-check his mobile and pager, nervous about maybe having overlooked a message. Special Weapons And Tactics carried those to call them to operations too dangerous for regular police officers to handle. Riot control wasn't much of an issue these days anymore, so they mostly handled search warrants and cases that involved organized crime, which in turn were usually linked to weapon or narcotics dealership, or illegal betting. They had special training; and were authorized to carry military equipment, but the rest of the time, they were law enforcement agents like any other. Reynauld did his fair share of patrols, reports and other sorts of office work.

Both the pager and his phone's screens were blank, so he had not missed some emergency. He decided to go to his office first; maybe Guyot would be able to tell him what was going on. He never got that far though, because Reynauld almost collided with Marci when he jogged up the stairs.

"Where is everyone?"

"Mallory's office," the young police officer replied, sounding out of breath. "Linesi's taken out two teams – there has been another robbery."

Another one. Reynauld's heart sank. "Where?"

"Central," Maci replied, biting her lip.

Reynauld nodded, and hurried past her. Mallory saw him and waved from the door to her office. She was a tall, no-nonsense kind of person who wore her black hair short and whom he had never seen out of a suit. She had worked her way up to deputy director and it was generally assumed she would one day replace the Chief when he retired.

She was holding a meeting, and a grapevine of people was clustered in the room which seemed too small all of a sudden. Gatherings like this didn't usually happen unless it was someone's birthday or something bad had occurred. Reynauld didn't need Marci to tell him which one this was, he could have guessed by the absence of cake and smiles upon the faces of those around him.

Reynauld took up position in the back of the group. He had to stand on his toes to be able to look over all their heads and see what held their attention. The flatscreen was a video playing footage from what could only be a security camera. Reynauld had missed most of it, but he arrived just in time to see a black-masked burglar breathe steam on the camera's lens. The quality of the recording was not good enough to tell whether it was a man or a woman before fog was all they could see. And then a heart appeared where the condensation was wiped away with the tip of one finger. Seconds later, the tv flickered to black, and that was it.

In the silence that followed one would have been able to hear a pin drop. And that was saying something since the office was carpeted.

"When did this happen?" Reynauld finally asked when he realized nobody else was going to.

"We received the tape this morning," Mallory answered, and turned off the television with an annoyed flick of her wrist. "This was recorded on Sunday evening."

"I thought the cemetery had a security firm doing surveillance, and we'll get notified as soon as something happens?" someone to Reynauld's right called out.

A muscle in Mallory's jaw twitched, but her tone did not betray her frustration. "They disabled the security system," she informed them.

"Shit!" somebody else cursed, which earned them a glower from Mallory, but by then the room had burst into chaos; everybody was calling out ideas and talking one over the other.

"Rey." Mallory's hand landed on his shoulder a moment later, and her voice lowered, despite the chance of being overheard being close to zero. "The Chief wants a word."

Reynauld nodded at her and left the room, leaving her to bring back order to the meeting. His boss was not the most patient of men, and there was no reason to antagonize him, especially since he very much did not want to draw attention to his tardiness.

The Chief's office was at the end of the second story corridor. A golden plate was screwed to the door, but Reynauld did not even glance at it. His knuckles had barely made contact with the wood when he was told to enter, and he stepped into Chief Vvulf's domain.

The room was just like he remembered it. Most of it was taken up by a large desk, and the walls were lined with shelves that were slowly beginning to bend under their load. At some point an effort had been made to make the office look more homely, but the plants had not lasted long. The Chief had kept but one, and the fact that it was a cactus really spoke for itself.

He was in his middle years, with short grey hair and the figure of a powerful man who was slowly getting out of shape. "What did she tell you?" the Chief began without so much as a word of greeting. He was seated in a big leather armchair behind his desk.

Guessing that he must have meant Mallory, Reynauld answered, "The central cemetery was hit by a masked felon nicknamed the Graverobber."

The Chief nodded, then made a hand gesture for Reynauld to close the door and take a seat. "This ain't for anybody's ears," he grunted.

"Sir?"

Vvulf laced his fingers together on his stomach, fixing his unblinking gaze on Reynauld. "There's no point tiptoeing around it. I don't shout it from the rooftops, but my family's history goes back a long way. The mausoleum that was hit yesterday wasn't just anyone. These attacks are have become a personal matter now. We, the police, are being targeted, and the situation has gotten out of control."

Reynauld had not known that the Chief was related to any of the old nobility, but then perhaps the knowledge should not surprise him; one did not rise to the rank of Chief without some good connections. There was very little Reynauld actually knew about the man who was his boss, despite having worked for him for years. Vvulf was someone who valued his privacy and didn't get too friendly with his subordinates.

"So we take down the ones responsible," Reynauld deducted, still unsure why he was here. Certainly it was not so that his boss could make that little confession?

"You're a smart man, Maurouard," Vvulf pointed out, a hint of irritation in his voice.

"You don't think they're acting out of their own agenda," Reynauld deduced, remembering the video Mallory had shown them. The Graverobber's actions had struck him as being... provocative, almost. They certainly had wanted to be seen, maybe to send some kind of message.

"No. I do not," the Chief confirmed with a pleased nod. "Whether we like it or not, the old families are the foundation which this city is built upon."

Reynauld noticed he spoke as if he did not belong to one of them, despite his earlier admission.

"And there are those who would benefit from weakening it, from sowing discord, uncertainty and fear. From making us look weak and incompetent. If the people do not feel safe," the Chief said and leaned forward on his elbows as if he was to share a great secret, "Whom will they turn to for protection?"

"So these attacks are not a coincidence," Reynauld summed up. Everybody had presumed as much, but they still lacked solid proof. "And you suspect one of the northern cartels?"

Vvulf was shaking his head before Reynauld had even finished speaking. "Not just any one of them." Reynauld wanted to ask if he really thought he could be behind all this, but the Chief continued. "El Abuelo has plenty of reason to target us," Vvulf pointed out. "We may not know what his final goal is, but men like him feed off chaos. They always look for weaknesses, for a way to expand their power. We need to stop him – ," the Chief broke off abruptly, and Reynauld imagined he could hear the ghost of an at all costs.

He did not comment. El Abuelo was one of the, if not the most notorious of crime bosses. Reynauld was still trying to come to terms with everything he had learned, when Vvulf said,

"I want you to be the Special Agent in Charge on this case."

"Me?"

"Do you see anyone else in this room?" Vvulf demanded to know. "Yes, you."

"Why?" Reynauld blurted out, which, in hindsight, probably wasn't the smartest thing to say. He was still reeling from all the information – a moment ago he had not even known there was a case; now he had been told he was to lead a major investigation that involved one of the most dangerous men in the North. And was not the most experienced man the Chief had, and huge cases like this were usually given to the senior officers.

Vvulf's lips pursed in thought. "You did some good work," he finally said, but even guff praise from the Chief was quite something. "I like that you are efficient and discreet and I trust you to handle delicate matters without causing a scandal. This is your chance, Maurouard. Prove me I'm right, and who knows, this seat might one day belong to you," he added and laughed at his own joke, a rare sign he had a sense of humour, buried somewhere deep inside.

The corner of Reynauld's mouth tugged upwards. "Thinking about retiring, Sir?" It would be hard to imagine the PD without Vvulf there to lead them, he was such a huge personality. A tough boss with high expectations, but a fair one.

"There's one of them Southern beaches that has my name on it," Vvulf said, but his eyes were already narrowing. "You look like there's something on your mind. Spit it out, what is it?"

"I was actually hoping to take some time off," Reynauld confessed. He was tired from merely thinking about the upcoming work load. He deserved a vacation, and he still had three weeks good from last year that he was going to lose soon – as his boss knew very well.

Vvulf leaned back, making his leather armchair creak. "Tell you what," he decided. "If time wasn't of the essence, I'd let you go right now. I will let you keep your three weeks, and if we get El Abuelo, I'll top it off with a month of paid leave extra, so you can spend some time with your boy – family's everything, after all. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like a deal, Sir." Reynauld could barely believe the offer he'd been made; it was quite unheard of. But he trusted his boss not to pull him over. And if they got El Abuelo, Vvulf would be basking in the attention of the media. He might even be hailed a city hero.

"Excellent," the Chief said, sounding pleased. "You'll be happy to know we already have a lead."

That certainly was news. "We do?" Reynauld asked, cocking his brow.

"The Graverobber is not operating on his or her own," Vvulf replied. "There is no way they could disable the security system and rob the mausoleum in time before we were alerted of the shutdown. They have an accomplice." The Chief turned and got up, reaching to take a folder off the shelf behind him. He dropped it on the table and flipped it towards Reynauld who opened it.

The first page was taken up by a close-up of a man's face. For reasons unknown the photograph was black and white, but Reynauld did not need colour to recognize him.

"Dismas," he said, remembering the name because it was actually that of the penitent thief from the Verse of Light. An alias then.

Reynauld wasn't sure if the rogue was ballsy, or merely an arsehole.

"Aye," Vvulf confirmed, his greying brows drawing together. "One right bloody fucker. He's guilty of more than some harmless misconduct too. The man's an ex-bandit, and former member of the Wolves."

Reynauld flipped the first page. There was a list of information they had managed to collect on the man. The first line read:

Real name: Valance Paixdecoeur.

"Paixdecoeur," Reynauld said slowly, thinking. "Is the name given to orphans raised by the Order."

Vvulf nodded. "I see I chose the right man for the job. Pick your team, Maurouard, and get started straight away. This has top priority from now on until I tell you otherwise. "

Reynauld closed the folder with a snap and picked it up, resting it against the crook of his elbow. "What about the Montgomery case, Sir?"

"Just hand it over to someone else," Vvulf said. "Mallory will handle it, if no one else will. You can report to her, if I'm not here."

Reynauld nodded, "You said Dismas ran with the Wolves?" He had heard a lot about the gang, but it had fallen apart and its members had scattered when their leader had disappeared. Apparently there had been some sort of falling out between who they only knew as the Wolf, and El Abuelo.

"The Wolf was El Abuelo's hireling," the Chief said after a brief pause. "Therefore, if we find him," Vvulf said, tapping one fat finger against picture-Dismas' temple, "Maybe we can retrace his connection right back to the source."

"Do we know his whereabouts then?" Reynauld wanted to know. Despite himself, he couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement. The Wolf had disappeared a little bit over a decade ago – either laying low, or killed by El Abuelo himself. Even if he was alive, he had had enough time to cover his tracks. It was unlikely they would find him – unlikely, but not impossible.

"Unfortunately, we do not," Vvulf confirmed Reynauld's suspicion. "Every time we were tipped off and the team's gotten close, he has slipped through our nets. Man doesn't hang out in one place for very long. The good thing is: We got somebody who was close to him."

"How do you know-"

Vvulf waved his hand in a dismissing gesture and Reynauld dropped that thread to ask a far more important question.

"Has he told us anything?"

"Not yet," the Chief said in a tone that made it crystal clear he would, sooner rather than later – even if he had to wring the answers out of the prisoner himself. "But he will. And when he does, I want you and your team to be ready. This could be the biggest strike against organized crime in fifty years!"

"Yes, Sir!" Reynauld saluted the Chief with the folder and turned on his heel. Guyot was the first one on his team. They had an uncatchable criminal to capture. Reynauld had always liked a challenge.