Panne eyed the short stack of books again, her nails rapping against the hardbound cover at the top of the tower. Her other hand fussed with the notes she'd taken, flipping through page after page in her notebook to little avail. She looked up at the Grand Archives and noted that the hands on the clock were approaching progressively more worrisome hours. Finally, her eyes turned back to the Grumpig across the table from her.

"Do you really not have anything else on the Bittercold event? I mean, no offense, but I kind of figured that there'd be a whole lot more on the subject, considering this is where it happened. Some of these books Nexus already has copies of in its own library."

Visibly flustered, the Master of Books started to fidget with his hands. "I'm absolutely certain that this is our full collection on the matter. Some of these accounts only reference the event in passing, but I assure you that I have gathered everything. Frankly I'm at as much of a loss as you are. I'm from Air Continent, so my own knowledge on the subject is admittedly lacking."

"Hmph." The Delphox slid everything into a neat pile directly in front of her. The quill she had been holding left her fingers and floated up, suspended by her telekinesis. She regarded the feather for a moment, hummed, then sighed.

"Well there's gotta be something more I'm not getting. These books don't tell me anything new. I know what those fucking golden lights mean. I know what it said about the deaths of those humans, too, but so would Alexander since he was the one the author interviewed for the damn thing. So why wouldn't he consider Chenza as being one of them?"

Grumpig looked fairly confused, which was reasonable considering that she was simply thinking out loud, having not told him a single damn thing about what she was actually supposed to be researching. Panne waved him away with a polite smile.

"Don't mind me. I'm just...getting stuck again. You'll have to trust me when I say that I'm way better out in the field than I am with a desk of papers."

"Oh, I have no doubt!" His eyes lit up. "I just wonder, perhaps, if you would be better off asking the Serperior yourself than digging through tomes that you're already familiar with?"

She staggered a groan that gradually slipped past her teeth. Yeah, that was actually an excellent idea. It was such an excellent idea that it was also her only one, which retroactively meant having to interact with that grotesque overripe banana, and he had been locked away in his courthouse for over a week now. The quill idly flickered back and forth in her psychic grasp. But if it was for Val's sake, then…

"...Yeah," she finally admitted. "You're right. You were right from the start, I just didn't want to admit it. I'm not gonna get an audience with the literal king with all that's been going on. But I'm not the only one that thinks Alexander's kind of a creep, right? Like I'm really not fond of being around him at all, and he's always sending servants to check up on me. Like I'm the kind of pokemon that needs to steal anything!"

Grumpig definitely paused to choose his words carefully. "He is, ah...a strong presence, to be sure. I don't know your history with him, but I can sympathize with a desire to-well, to minimize the time you spend in his company. Still, he lived through the Bittercold firsthand."

"Ah well. It's his damn mission, anyway. Any idea where I could find that slithering corpse of a Serperior at this time of day? Is he still at the courthouse, you think?"

"Master Alexander had an important trial to attend to just before noon, and after that I believe he had a meeting with the Master of Trade and a few others. At this hour I imagine he'll just be wrapping that up. You should be able to catch him if you left for the courthouse now, give or take a few minutes."

Her polite smile transformed into a genuine one, which was admittedly much smaller. "That's actually exceptionally helpful. I mean, you're one of the more helpful I've met on this trip for sure. This city's honestly a miserable wreck at the best of times. Thank you very much."

"You're very welcome!" beamed the Grumpig.

Panne lifted the stack of tomes with her mind and opened her bag with her hands. Hefting it over her back, she gave the Master of Books a final nod and mounted her staff to leave. That guy was still a total dweeb, but he wasn't all bad once you looked past the fact that there were so few academics in this city. Having someone to hold conversations with was refreshing.

She plunged into the cold again, grimacing. At least the winds had died down since this morning. Nothing ruined her first coffee like being pelted in the face by a slurry of hail and freezing rain. Why couldn't this city have decided to tear itself apart during the summer instead?

Post District itself wasn't too unkind on the eyes. Now that she'd seen a bit more of the city, it was easier to appreciate just how well-kept these streets were. Perennial pots of green foliage persisted against the weather, adding some much-needed color to the dull reds and greys that were so common in this place's architecture.

The courthouse, however, was a fucking dark castle designed to instill horror into the hearts of anyone who gazed upon it. The stone building lacked any of the artistry or subtlety that the capitol possessed. Sheer walls and flat pillars. The windows were lifeless squares that were an insult to actual panes of glass everywhere. It seemed that every immediate aspect of the place was meant to strike awe and inferiority into anyone who had the displeasure of entering it.

Perfect for who the building belonged to, now that she was thinking about it.

It had taken a few minutes of waiting, like Grumpig said. Panne brushed the snow off a ledge to have a seat and stared at the doors underneath the shadow of the looming building. A myriad of pokemon came and went through the entrance in the meantime. None were prisoners being escorted by guards, unfortunately. Just boring old practitioners of law, toting papers or bags or their own contractual misery.

Then exited the flash of yellow-green she was looking for-and much more green after that, for that matter. Alexander pressed through the heavy doors with a visible degree of effort, and following after him was a Flygon dressed to the nines in all manner of heavy clothing. Paradise-colored huge scarf, Paradise-colored shawl, and all the other frilly floaty bits that made up what you'd expect the Master of Trade to wear. Lastly came a Persian, who was so woefully under-dressed that they were most intimidating of them all despite having the smallest stature.

"...should know that I am not going to put up with anything but your best efforts," the Persian just finished saying as Panne approached.

The Flygon crossed their arms. "You do not get to decide where my best efforts are going. This shouldn't be up for debate. The more I focus on your whims, the less I can dedicate to the side of the town that's actually struggling."

"We already went over this," Alexander grumbled as he left the doorway last. "There are bounds we cannot overstep as Masters, and His Majesty has no time for requests like this when there is already so much unrest. Persian, we will do what we can, but there is only so much we can do at one time."

"Hey," Panne finally spoke up, drawing all three pairs of eyes and every hint of frustration therein. "You guys finished with that crooked snake yet? I needed to borrow him."

Persian's lip raised in a silent snicker. "Oh, you can have him. I'm quite finished with this 'crooked snake', as you aptly put. Apparently I have a great deal of preparation to make for Rusty Mountain on my own. Now, if you'll excuse me."

The guildmaster's gait as he walked off was nothing short of arrogant. He held his chin aloft, lifting each paw over the snow like he was constantly afraid to step on something. His tail, thoroughly agitated, swung back and forth with little regard for reservation. He had been slighted, and now everybody was going to know about it. It gave Panne no pleasure in seeing how some things about cities across the world never changed.

Flygon let out a sigh it sounded like they had been holding in for the last hour. Their wings, tail, and every other part of them seemed to droop. "That went about as well as I expected it to. Agh, what a waste of time! Not a day goes by when I don't hate the mess that Persian left for me."

"It's everyone's mess these days, Master Flygon." Alexander turned his tired eyes to the Delphox. "What is it, Panne?"

She shrugged and leaned further down her staff. "What was that all about? I gather that was the infamous guild leader of Rusty Mountain, but I'd never actually seen him until now. He looks like a cunt."

The Flygon disguised their chuckling and coughed into their gloved fist. "Persian came to us with a concern about the defense funding for his markets. Since he uses a private company rather than one of our own, and because of the nature of what he's guarding, it falls to me instead of the Master of War, and I...am not as fond of his ideals."

"So he's trying to shore up his defenses for Shardurr?" Panne clicked her tongue.

Alexander barely twitched his eyelids, but the effect it had on his glare was startling. "Whether you're on the right track or not, I'd very much prefer you not talk about that topic out loud. In front of my own workplace in the middle of Post District, no less. Now what is it that you were going to ask me?"

"Ah, fine. I was doing research on the Bittercold event and I had a few questions. Any chance you have the time to spare now that your cat problem's sauntered off?"

"Mm. Perhaps." The Serperior turned his head to the Master of Trade. "Let us continue this discussion another day. Without Persian involved, optimally."

The Flygon offered a nod of agreement, gave Panne a small wave, and turned to take off into the air. Their wings kicked up a storm of ice that the Delphox was thankfully floating high enough to avoid.

Alexander didn't seem to care in the slightest. He turned, blinked at the snow that had stuck to his face, and started slithering in the opposite direction. "I'm going home. Are your questions simple enough to answer on the way?"

She shrugged and lurched forward after him. "I don't know. Maybe? Depends on how much you remember."

"Fair."

"I was reading a couple written recollections of the Bittercold, including the one you were interviewed for. I'm already familiar with the phenomenon regarding gold-tinted lights in the sky, because I'm one of the few pokemon on the planet that have seen it firsthand. Or been a part of one, though I don't really remember that day very well. You claimed that those were other humans being hunted down by Kyurem's cultists. Well, what about Chenza?"

"She is not one of them," Alexander answered without a moment's hesitation. "I know for certain that I am the only survivor. I had it confirmed multiple times by the very being that summoned us in the first place. The Voice of Life would not make a mistake as massive as miscounting the number of humans he has lost."

Panne's ears shot forward. "Ha! That guy? You're really gonna put that much faith into that dope of a Hydreigon?"

"What?" That actually got Alexander to pause. "I never stated which pokemon the Voice of Life was in any of the interviews. How did you know?"

"You kidding? I'm wearing a leaf from the fucking Tree of Life around my neck. Of course I know who Xerneas' little assistant is. I even beat 'em in a fight once. Have you heard of that one freak hurricane a few years ago that- Actually, that would take too long. You're absolutely certain that Chenza doesn't have anything to do with those lights?"

The Serperior let his eyes rest for a moment, emphasizing the terrible bags that were beneath them. "Without a doubt."

She hadn't seen this part of Post District yet. The further away you got from ominous government buildings and funky art fixtures, the more reasonably everything was built. The neighborhood was still kept neurotically pristine, but with comfort in mind more than sheer grandeur. The shops weren't as unapproachable but still held themselves to a high standard. The homes were clearly valuable real estate, but lacked the same gaudy nature that she'd seen from properties in other parts of town. There was even a cafe that looked as impressive as Kangeskhan's, ran by a Swanna instead.

Alexander took an exceptionally slow pace up a set of stairs. In that lull, Panne spun her staff around and brushed the snow from her fur. "So what about that cult? I've definitely seen a pinch of Kyurem's faith built into Shardurr's modus operandi. Do you think there could be some connections?"

"No," answered the Serperior, a flash of annoyance coming over his face. "That was dismantled even before Bittercold had been resolved. I highly doubt that-if there truly is a radical faction of the church involved with Chenza's gang-they are related to Munna's actions in any way."

Panne put a finger to her lips. "Hmm? Munna, was it? Why does that sound so familiar?"

"That's not a question I can answer for you."

She didn't have time to reach the conclusion of that stray thought. At the end of the avenue was what she could only describe was a complete fucking anomaly. The structure appeared to be some sort of half-dome-its circular walls appearing relatively normal near to the bottom until the whole roof curved inwards. She only knew it was a half-dome because the curvature seemed to suddenly end, but the architecture betrayed no more of its secrets from this angle.

"What in the hell is that?"

Alexander hummed. "My house."

"Are you serious? What kind of house is that? That's a fucking- a stadium or a theatre or something. You know I actually got the impression that you were a minimalist sort of guy. I didn't think that I'd be this wrong."

"I suppose it does have an oppressive air to it from the outside."

"Tch! Oppressive? I mean geez, what do you make of the other houses on this street? Nobody's gonna wonder where the Master of Law lives!"

It didn't exactly get any more modest on the inside, either. The highly-specific design of the house didn't really afford itself the opportunity to be. The entryway and all the rooms were forced to go along with the major curve of the building. The walls and paint were admittedly pretty bland, though the furniture she could immediately see was fairly luxurious. And to top it all off, a servant had come to Alexander's side within seconds of entering.

"Welcome home, sir," the uniformed Bellossom said with a bow of their head.

Alexander acknowledged them with the world's smallest smile. "I'll have chai today, thank you. Use the large kettle, I'm having a guest over."

"Very well."

Laying down on her staff, Panne raised an eyebrow at the Bellossom as they busily waddled away around the corner. She waited until she could no longer hear their shuffling. "You know I haven't seen Reinhardt actually command a servant once. You have them in your own home. Not so humble, huh?"

"My body and my work often get in the way of ordinary life. There are times when I can hardly move when I wake up in the morning, so I appreciate the help immensely. And these servants aren't just here to be my caretakers. I have a garden that needs looking after."

"Ooh, a garden." Panne sarcastically waved her hands in the air. "They don't trim your leaves and water your tail at night, do they?"

Alexander didn't bother to respond. He simply took his crooked self over to the other end of the entryway and pulled back another sliding door. At first Panne thought they had gotten turned around somehow and went out the same way they'd come in. Except they most definitely didn't pass through a small forest on the way in here.

What Alex had called a garden felt closer to a hiccup in a mystery dungeon than anything. The dome's ceiling wrapped around the lip of the sky, but transitioned into a sort of wire mesh that spanned the rest of the space in the center. Beneath the eternally-grey sky was nothing short of a sanctuary of nature. Tiny hills and sediment cliffs, held in place by the webs of roots that jutted out of them, recreated the intricacies of a forest floor. A plethora of bushes and trees-some perennial while others were barren-lined the garden in such a way that you couldn't even see through to the other side.

Panne just shrugged and followed behind the Serperior. "Okay. This is minimalist in the most grandiose way possible. Congratulations, I'm impressed."

"Your questions, Panne. Did you have any more for me?"

"Oh, right. So there was no report of any other phenomenon like the golden lights happening after Bittercold ended, correct? Chenza wasn't a late bloomer? I'm not really an expert on what humans coming into existence looks like but I know it's probably not subtle."

Alexander thought about that for some time. There was a small clearing in the center of the garden complete with a standing scaffold of poles meant for a serpentine pokemon to rest on, a table just as covered in show as everything else, and a spent torch. The Serperior crawled up onto his weird snake chair, his many joints popping in uncomfortable ways.

"On clear nights, we may see the aurora at times. Blues and greens and reds, mostly, but it's never anything close to what you're describing. I have seen huge shooting stars carve across the night sky, as well, but it's still not the same thing. There was no reported visual anomaly related to Chenza coming into this world."

The Delphox stifled a groan. "Shit, I don't know. I'm finding it pretty hard to believe they really are human. I mean, I get it-I'm being paid to have the utmost goddamn certainty possible. It's just that there really aren't any clues to follow. Unless they came from a different land entirely, I guess. It's still not even a big deal whether they are a human or not. Like, they're tearing Paradise a new asshole regardless of whether or not they lied."

"It matters," Alexander snapped back, fury flashing across his face for a split second before the exhaustion rolled back in. "I assure you that it matters. Perhaps not in a physical sense, but cosmically it could be more important than anything."

Thankfully, that garbage fire of a conversation ended when the Bellossom came shuffling back through the snow with a platter held carefully above their head. They set the tea down on the table with an expert toss, hopped up to clear away the snow, and began to pour the creamy brown drink into two separate cups. With that wordless bow of theirs, they were off again.

It was a damn good tea, too. Kinda spicy, but not gritty at all. The scalding hot temperature was a nice touch since it seemed that Alexander just sat out in the snow all day for sport. Again, all of this would seem much nicer if it was just not the coldest damn months of the year.

Panne sighed. "One more question."

"Fine."

"What the fuck were you trying to do in Poliwrath River all those years ago?"

The Serperior froze. He turned his head, opening wide a single eye towards her and stopping to examine her face. "What does that have to do with the Weavile or the Bittercold?"

"It doesn't. It's just something that came up again the other day, and I realized I still didn't really know the answer. I figure I'm already here, so there's no better time or place to get it sorted out."

After apparently not sensing any hostility in the question, Alexander put his cup to his mouth and tilted back for a sip. His weary eyes closed-the very image of fatigue. "You would not like the simplicity of the reason."

"Sure. I don't like seeing your creepy face, either, but I'm here anyway."

The corners of his mouth raised an almost microscopic amount. "Fine. I first came to Water Continent to learn how to conquer a mystery dungeon."

She gave a shrug. "Well yes, I understand that. You were trying to start a cute little tyranny in my backyard. What does that even mean, though?"

"Paradise is massive," was how Alexander decided to answer, leaning back onto his own coils, draping over the sides of the poles. "This region is exceptionally close to the northern pole of the world's leylines. On top of that, it's the middle of a rather vast valley in between a hammock of mountain ranges. There were many, many mystery dungeons here before Paradise had even been conceived of, much less built. Do you know where they went?"

Again, Panne shrugged. "I don't know. Did you bury them or something?"

"Yes. I did."

"...Okay, I know I'm supposed to be a scholar but you need to be more specific than that. I get that mystery dungeons start to recede when near areas with more civilization, but what do you mean you buried them? You just like, built over top of them?"

"Right through the center," the Serperior agreed with a nod. "Poliwrath River was the experiment that would determine the fate of how Paradise would expand once it had reached a certain critical mass. I was young and arrogant. I thought that mystery dungeons were obstacles to be overcome, and that the denizens of such places simply needed a few nudges in the right direction to become like us. Of that colossal avalanche of failures and mistakes, I gathered several truths from the ashes. For one, I was right. Mystery dungeons could be conquered.

"It takes a great deal of effort to do so, however. Structures and buildings provide stability to local sectors within a dungeon, that much is apparent. However, building a city on top of a dungeon will only cause it to rearrange like a sliding puzzle. You need eyes. Ears. Noses. Perception has to fill the space just as much as those structures do, else you end up like those warped ruins filled with vagrants. It is precisely because Paradise is so populated that I was able to erase those dungeons with time."

Panne had leaned forward on her staff now, ears tentative and forward. She took a drink of her tea without looking down. "You know, I'm pretty sure I heard something about these streets being so confusing and vast that the city itself was just one huge mystery dungeon."

"Conjecture and folk tales," Alexander assured her. "...I think."

The Serperior coughed into his vine, looking out into the white-tinged canopy. "Anyway, that was the original reason for that whole ordeal. The good intentions behind the act matter little. The lessons it taught me have lasted for far longer than any spark of goodwill I've ever had."

"Yeah, you were definitely an asshole. I can't say you didn't deserve it." He just blinked at her, prompting the Delphox to fill the silence. "I'm not over it. I'm just in too deep to care right now. And, well, you look miserable enough that I can't help but feel like you're still being punished for it."

"Do you know what the most harrowing lesson I learned from that mistake is?" said Alexander, to a reply of a bated breath of interest. "It's not the chronic pain or anything so shallow. It's that you cannot force a pokemon to change, no matter the circumstances. Attempting to do so will only end in heartache and war. That's something I continue to contend with day after day even now. Especially now, with the state of things. Forcing change really does seem to be the only solution that I can come up with."

"No kidding." Panne exhaled out her nose. "Paradise probably wasn't always like this, was it? Think you'll ever be able to tighten the reins on the city again?"

"I can only hope, Panne. For all my efforts, I can only hope."

...

The night was young. A brisk gale lightly tested the integrity of the office complex, drawing all sorts of creaks and whistles from the old wood. It was a comforting sound in its familiarity alone, but the white noise certainly helped dispel the unnerving quiet and allowed Nibby to focus on the task at hand.

The Noibat had just woken up not more than an hour ago. His pipe was lit, as were the trio of candles that brought a moody orange tinge to the papers he was mulling over. Panne had delivered to him accounts of the Bittercold earlier today, which went hand-in-hand with the research he had gathered from past censuses. Now it came down to busywork. His list of notes had only just started to scratch the surface of this endeavor. It was more of a personal affair than anything official, but that made it all the more important.

He had gotten a considerable amount of work done before trouble decided to rear its head. It came in the form of a thud outside his door. The noise was little different than the rest of the rainbow of sounds that this building likes to make in violent weather. It almost seemed as if Nibby's heart was going to thaw from the experience, too, until a sharp rapping came on the other end of the door. It sounded like a beak.

It could have been anyone's beak, the Noibat tried to assure himself. That thought wasn't enough to convince him to actually get up and answer the door. The wind whistled as the moment went on, until the shrill tapping began again more forcefully. The hollow voice from the other side gave away his visitor's identity.

"Noibat. Open the door. There is something we need to discuss."

It was exactly who he had feared it was.

In a panicked flutter of motion, Nibby tried to stow his current project away beneath a stack of folders. He took too long, eliciting a slower and more menacing pace to the next knock. A gasp of preparation was all he really had time for as he dashed over and unlocked the door. Landing on the handle in a specific way twisted it, knocking it loose so that he could fly back to his desk and let the Swellow enter on his own terms.

The avian pressed his green head through the crack in the door before long. Walking along the ground, he pushed off with his talon to let the entrance of the office swing wide open, then flew off into the room. Swellow naturally gravitated to the highest perch that he could look down on the Noibat from, which happened to be the cabinets in the corner.

Nibby wished his glare could kill. "What do you want?"

"Have I mentioned that you did an excellent job at putting wedges through The Family until we could finish the job?" Swellow finally said.

"No. You haven't. I figured that out on my own when they tried to tie me up and bring me before the Matriarch so that she could put a pair of talons through my eye sockets."

"Aah, that'll happen in our line of work. I still think it's a funny way of showing appreciation, but oh well. How's Alexander's little Delphox faring? Has she come across proof that there's a Weavile in Shardurr's ranks yet?"

"Haha. Funny, aren't ya?"

The Swellow smiled. "Some help he hired. Fool knew the truth from the get go and still couldn't piece together enough evidence before Chenza revealed the secret herself. They're not going to be a problem, are they? Anything to report on her that would make us have to write a strongly-worded letter?"

He thought of what Panne had told him and struggled not to let his expression drift. The Serperior that had infiltrated Shardurr's inner sanctum was supposed to be her own husband. It was Paradise's trump card, and probably the most dangerous information that Nibby knew. With that knowledge in his heart, he steeled his glare on the green Swellow.

"No. She's not going to get anywhere with her research. As long as I don't get hunted down again, nothing will come of it."

"Always the bringer of good news. As for that trouble you ran into, I suppose you'll just have to be more careful with the next set of tasks we give you."

The Noibat's wings flew open. "Absolutely not! I've already helped you lowlife scum enough as it is! You've already convinced half the damn city to eat themselves alive! What more could you want from me? Why don't you go find some other detective to strong-arm?!"

Another voice would answer him-feminine and mocking. "But Nibby, you've been so good to us! Where else are we going to find such a reliable investigator?"

He whipped around towards the door. The origin of the voice did not reveal themselves for several seconds, but a shadow seemed to pass over the top of the door. There hung a Weavile, upside-down, seemingly suspended from above with her claws dug into the fixture. She flipped down and punctuated the end of her previously silent entrance with a weary croak from the staircase.

"You-" Nibby tried to find the words, but was immediately beset by the Weavile's vicious eyes. It didn't take an investigator to piece together who he now had the displeasure of meeting, not when her name was already plastered across the papers. One good look at that pair of eyes was enough to know the kinds of brutality that this pokemon was capable of.

"Me?" Chenza continued with a chuckle, kicking the door to a close behind her. She folded her claws behind her back and ambled forward. "You know, I really love that I'm finally out in the open. I get to see to these things more personally. It was dull sticking to the background all the time, but you've never minded being a secondary character, have you Nibby?"

He snapped back to reality as fury washed over him. "Don't you dare fucking call me that!"

"What? That is what you prefer to go by now, isn't it? You never seemed to mind when your old partner used to call you that. What were they, again? A Lucario or something? Ah well, the memory slips my mind, even though I was there. Once someone's a mangled corpse it all starts to blend together…"

"You shut the hell up!" Nibby projected his voice as loud as he could, the sound causing the floorboards to quake. "Get out of my office. Get out of my face. Leave this place and never come back!"

The Weavile pretended to look offended. "Quite a nerve I've struck there, huh? It's been quite a long time since then. It's probably time to move on. After all, I'm going to need you at your best efforts for my next few moves. Shardurr's future depends on it."

He spat a flaming blue ball of spit in Chenza's general direction, but she moved her head out of the way in time. "Didn't you hear what I said? Shove off and die in a gutter already. I hope you trip and fall headfirst into the deepest pit in the Voidlands."

"Aw. Shame to hear that. You were very useful." She was less than a meter away from the edge of his desk when she brandished her claws. The ivory spines glistened in the candlelight with the droplets of melting ice crystals. It was all too easy to imagine what a deep red would look like coating them instead. "But if that's really the case, I'm afraid you've reached the end of your rope."

Terror instantly replaced the rage. Nibby began to backpedal, sheets of paper slipping beneath him as he ran out of desktop. "Wait. Wait a minute now. Hold on. You can't-!"

The Weavile didn't stop at the edge. She hopped up onto desk and straightened her back to glare down at him. Nibby tried to take off, zipping over her head and towards the exit. A wall of force came down over his back and pushed him into the floor with a stunning intensity. He struggled to take in a breath, pressed into the dust by Swellow's immovable talons.

"But I can!" chimed Chenza as she knelt down to meet the pinned Noibat at eye level. "Who's going to come looking for you when you die? Will your body freeze solid in this office after being left here for weeks? When spring comes, will you finally thaw and be discovered when the stench of your rot starts to drift outside? You see, what makes me so good at my job is that I don't fucking care. I could find another detective to strong-arm-you're absolutely right! But that also means taking care of the loose end I'd be leaving. That's the business I'm in, Nibby. That's the business you're in."

Just the act of swallowing had become nearly impossible. Nibby couldn't even turn his head away, caught staring into the reflective gaze of a predator. "D-don't…"

She smiled. A long, heavy moment passed before she finally gestured for Swellow to release him. As soon as those talons were pulled away, a flood of pain rushed forward in their place. The Noibat couldn't even get to a stand as he coughed and sputtered against the carpet.

"See? That's why you're one of the smart ones! Unlike your previous accomplice, you've still got a head on your shoulders!" Chenza laughed, but the joy wasn't there.

Nibby had lost the energy to be angry. "What the fuck...do you want with me?"

"Just more of the same," said the Swellow, triumphantly preening all the while. "In the next few weeks, businesses being run by Rusty Mountain Mercantile Guild are going to mysteriously acquire a suspicious amount of arms and explosives, right around the time that the guildmaster will be preparing to crack down on potential threats in his territories."

"Ah, gee. I wonder how those got there?" Chenza put a claw to her lips. "That seems pretty incriminating if you ask me. In fact, if somebody trusted by the law happened to come across any hints as to which businesses those might be, they could really spark some fires between the guild and the king, who's trying ever so hard to keep the peace."

"More fucking war?" Nibby managed to spit out as he choked.

"That's what it's going to look like, won't it? And it won't even look like we're starting it this time! That's very nefarious, isn't it?"

Swellow took flight suddenly, launching himself out the door and perching on the railing of the staircase outside. "Once things are in motion, we will send you the first location to investigate. You'll get your evidence, at which point you rush it along to a judicial level and wipe your wings clean. It's that simple. I don't understand why you're so apprehensive when yours is the easiest job."

Every step that Weavile took towards the door seemed to make time move more slowly. Her toe claws finally scraped against the ice out on the balcony, but that terrible gaze still came back to haunt Nibby one last time.

She closed the door, and not a single footstep was heard upon her leaving. Silence.