It was a blur for him. He stood up and pushed out the door of the recovery room, and the loud clamor of reporters amplified twofold. Nick covered his ears. His headache was getting worse. Audibly groaning, he pushed past the group with his paws over his ears, partly because he didn't want to hear them and because he didn't want to talk. Even with his paws over his ears, though, the rise in excitement in the crowd was audible. Eyes stared at him from all angles. When he pushed through the front door the crowd was still audible. As soon as the door closed, he let his paws fall to his side, and he ruffled through his pockets. Keys. Keys…

Nick stopped in the middle of the parking lot. Right. It's still at Judy's apartment…

He thought for a second. It was only a five-minute drive. Only a few miles. He could sprint it. He hated running, but it was either that or let Judy go. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then took off, his legs pounding on the pavement. This running felt different. His breathing was slower and steadier. His form felt stronger and more effective. And sounds he normally heard weren't there—being laser-focused on finding Judy—so all he could hear was his mental chatter. Where would she be? He thought.

Silently he made a plan. He wasn't sure how effective it would be, but he knew some things about her that would lead him to her. She had been captured; he knew for sure. All he needed now was more clues. And Judy's apartment was the only place he could find those.

Once he reached Judy's apartment, he was dripping in sweat, with his head and hands soaked in it. His chest hurt unlike anything he ever felt before, and he had to stand with his hands on his knees for a minute. The nausea came again, but it was less severe than before. At least now he was making steps to find her instead of lying helplessly in that stupid recovery room.

Once Nick had recovered a little, he stood up again. His breaths were still pronounced, but they were way better than they had been. His hearted pounded too, and he could feel the pulse resonating in his neck and hips. He took a deep breath and jogged inside the apartment. Again, he met the pangolin from earlier, who looked up with widened eyes. "Hello again, son."

"I need to"—he took a few gasps of air—"get to Judy's room."

"Go right ahead."

He ran right past the reception desk and took the elevator upstairs. As soon as the doors began opening, he squeezed through and dashed down the hallway until he got to Judy's room—the open door marked with police tape. There were several markings along the floor that made it almost look like a murder scene. Except the tracing of a body, of course. He stepped over the police tape. The room was empty, but he was still quiet in looking around. Judy's clothing had been removed, and tiny yellow flags had been left in its place. He sighed. He had hoped to have gotten to the clothing first, just so he could look through it and try to find evidence.

Instead, Nick looked under the bed, using his phone's flashlight. It was empty. He retreated from under the bed and went to the closet, ripping it open and scanning the inside. There had to be something. He desperately looked through each cabinet, his pace quickening after opening each cupboard. Finally, after the last one he dashed over to the side of Judy's bed and pulled open the drawer of the end table. Two things were in the drawer—a leather-bound book tied with an elastic string, and a flashlight.

Nick stared at the book for a moment, contemplating. He'd never seen this book before. It looked like a diary. He fought the urge to read it—it was Judy's diary, after all—and he shut the cupboard and looked under the end table. Nothing.

Nick collapsed onto the floor, his breaths still heavy. "Why, Judy?" he said softly. "Where are you?" Gradually tears seeped from his eyes, staining his face with the salty concoction. With that came short, dramatic gasps. He shook his head in disbelief. "Where are you?"

"Hey!"

Nick sat up, looking directly at the open apartment door. Wolfard stood in the doorway. "Nick."

"Don't touch me," Nick said.

Wolfard shook his head. "We have no idea where she is. You're just wasting your time."

"Shut up," he said quietly. "You can't say that."

"If you didn't know, Nick," Wolfard said, approaching the fox, "we all care about her. She's my coworker. You have to realize that we've put in a day worth of work looking for her already."

"And she's my girlfriend, Wolfard!" He got to his feet. "Don't you ever say that a day is enough. A day is nothing. We'll find her." He smiled. "I know we will."

Bogo appeared in the doorway, ducking a little bit underneath the small frame. "Wilde, you're under arrest."

"Under arrest?" He backed toward Judy's bed. "Under what authority?"

"Mine, Wilde." He raised his eyebrows. "You're tampering with a crime scene. And you fled police custody."

"Custody?"

"That "recovery room" we've told you about isn't just a recovery room. It's a jail cell. We must assume that you were a part of Hopps' disappearance."

He shook his head. "You guys are crazy. I'd never do that to her."

"Explanations don't cut it, Wilde. You're a suspect of this case until we prove otherwise." He looked at Wolfard. "Arrest him."

Wolfard looked at Nick, then nodded at Bogo, stepping forward and unbuckling a pair of handcuffs from his belt. "You don't have to do this, buddy," Nick said. "I can help."

Wolfard said nothing, grabbing Nick's arm. Nick uppercut the wolf in the jaw, and he fell backward, his head hitting the floor with a dull thud.

"Adding to the charges, aren't we, Wilde?" Bogo stepped forward. "On the ground."

Nick stepped backward again.

"Wilde."

"Sir. I didn't mean to—" He froze when a shock pulsed through his body. He twitched, then fell to the ground unconscious.

Another officer rushed past Bogo and cuffed Nick, then Wolfard got to his feet and helped carry Nick out of the room.

The room was silent, leaving Bogo the only person left. The buffalo stuck his taser back into his belt, then glanced at the yellow flags scattered around the bed, then looked at the doorframe. He stayed for another few seconds, then without a word, left the room and closed the apartment door behind him.