Title: Dangerous Yours

Author's Note: Hello again. We will see where this goes. I have a lot of ideas. Which is either great or extremely dangerous. This is not so much a sequel to my story Dangerous Mine, as a continuation of the ATF world I've been building, but won't lie, probably would help to have read it and maybe Investigative Reporting. My OFC Sam is here again, but as usual I mean this as a boys story with her being an added character, and not the other way 's my favorite, with Vin a really close second. And Chris has been growing on me a lot. So expect a lot of those three I do want to explore more the girls relationships with the boys in this, namely, Mary/CHris, Buck/Ines and Casey/JD. SO yeah, long winded as all get out, but here she goes!

-/-

Ezra Standish pulled the long wool coat a bit tighter around himself as he exited the swanky cocktail bar in Denver's LoHi neighborhood, the early spring winds icy bite knifing through him. Never seemed to matter how many Colorado winters he lived through, he was a southern boy, and the cold didn't suit him. Green eyes cast furtive looks both ways down the darkened streets, hovering ever so briefly over the plain black van parked two blocks down. Then he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his coat, turned on his heel in the opposite direction and headed for his car, his chin tucked low beneath the upturned collar of his coat. He slid behind the wheel, and started the car, suddenly acutely grateful for the amenity of heated seats. The silver Audi pulled away from the curb.

Two blocks away, hunkered down in the back of the unmarked, black ATF surveillance van, Buck Wilmington shared a look with his friend and fellow ATF agent JD Dunne. The young, floppy haired computer genius looked back on his friend, his mouth a grim line. Ezra usually enjoyed undercover work, his easy southern charm and chameleon like nature allowing him to adapt to nearly any occasion. And to be fair, the man was still wholly competent, but his typical panache was noticeably lacking. Ezra was off his game, and had been for months. Buck just didn't know what else they could do about it.

"We tell Chris?" JD asked as he flicked off the computer monitors and audio surveillance tech that stuffed every available inch of the van's space.

Buck ran a hand over his mustache. "He knows kid. He's just giving Ezra the chance to work it out his own self."

"It's been eight months Buck," JD pointed out. "How long is Chris really gonna give him?"

Buck sighed. "Long as Ez keeps doing his job? So long as it takes, I imagine. Come on, we dally around here much longer Ezra's gonna beat us back to the office."

-/-

Ezra took a rather long, circuitous route back to the Denver ATF building, just as a precaution. Couldn't be too careful. After all Edward Stanover was new money and a new player in the game. No telling how curious interested parties would be to find out more about him. So, a wandering path back to the office, to assure himself he wasn't being tailed. By the time he parked the sky had clouded over, snow starting to fall. This damned winter didn't want to end.

It was after ten when the elevator opened on the seventh floor offices, though the Team's bullpen was largely dark. A single light on Buck and JD's shared work station illuminated the pair's taste for organized chaos and childlike tendencies, stacks of paper haphazardly strewn across the work station while the rest was dotted with various toys, a yoyo, slinky, pez dispensers and the ubiquitous rubber chicken that tended to appear in various places in the office and in various costume. The current theme was Easter, so the chicken sported a tiny, homemade set of rabbit ears and a wicker basket of foil covered chocolate eggs, of which only a few remained.

Farther on, Chris's door was cracked open, light spilling out into the corridor. Voices emanated from inside. Ezra shrugged out of his coat, folding it neatly over his arm, and headed towards it. Buck and JD had secured their spots in the two chairs that resided in front of Larabee's desk. Which left Ezra standing. He was fine with that really, he didn't intend to linger.

Chris sat perched on the corner of his desk on one seat bone, one long leg planted firmly on the floor, the other dangling in the air. His blonde hair was shorn short, though well shy of a military style buzz cut. All three men's body posture was relaxed, hell, Chris was even smiling, a rare enough event as to take note of it. Ezra wished he could join them, but he couldn't. Tension had him wound tight as a bowstring, the feeling that something terrible loomed on the horizon. He'd been feeling it for weeks. Maybe longer.

"How'd it go?" the Team's often black clad leader asked.

"My CI was correct," Ezra began. "Erikson and his crew are looking to expand their influence outside of currently controlled municipalities."

"Ezra," Buck shook his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're doing it again."

Without pausing for so much as a beat, Ezra slid from his dignified, educated southern accent to something more… yokel. "Well shit Buck, all I mean is Erikson wants to sell his dope and guns North and South ways of Denver like." Ezra canted his head and looked at the taller man sideways, face impassive. Then he turned his focus back to Chris, once again adopting his usual diction. "I'll have Daniel make a few felicitous introductions once our Mr. Dunne here," Ezra twisted toward the younger man, "creates the appropriate virtual paper trail for anyone inclined research the qualifications of one Edward Stanover."

"How soon do we need it?" JD asked.

"Erikson will want to waste no time finding the means necessary for his expansion. Faster is better in this case JD."

JD sighed a little. "Guess I won't make it to see Casey tonight," he muttered, naming his long time girlfriend. "Tell me what you need out of the alias, I'll get it done," he assured the southerner.

"Erikson needs a new influx of capital to expand his current operations, and the means to create a distribution network outside of the Four Corners area. So my cover needs to be equipped of that liquid capital as well as the resources and connections to fund Erikson's means of distribution. And enough of a sheet no one will question why I'd be looking to invest in such a venture."

"On it." JD snapped to his feet from the chair and trotted out to his desk in the bullpen. Forget Casey, so much for sleep.

Ezra dropped heavily into the chair JD has just occupied. Lingering seemed to be inevitable, might as well sit. "As soon as JD has the paperwork for my cover intact, I'll have Daniel start mentioning my name in the relevant circles, as well as my connections and ability to find distribution networks. After that?" Ezra raised his hands wide, palms up, "should only be a matter of time before Erikson comes calling."

The corner of Chris's lip curled upward, blue eyes amused. The man wasn't exactly lacking in confidence, but it was well earned. "Solid work," Chris grunted. "Now go home, both of you, get some rest. JD and I can burn the midnight oil."

"Ah forget it Chris, I'll stay," Buck waved his friend off with a flick of his hand. "Kid's gonna wake me up when he gets home anyway." The two agents shared a townhouse just outside of downtown Denver, a place the rest of the Team commonly referred to as the CDC, both for the place's near steady state of chaos, and a mild allusion to Buck's numerous one night trysts. The ladies man shrugged then, "plus? I gave him a ride. You go home for once."

Chris nodded agreeably and stood off the edge of his desk. "Won't argue with you there Buck. You ready Ez?"

The undercover agent was already on his feet. "There are some things, Mr. Larabee, I don't need to be told twice.

-/-

It was nearly midnight before Ezra made it back to his 9th floor Cherry Creek apartment, after trading the silver Audi for his own plum purple Jag. A lone lamp situated atop a small side table by the couch illuminated the space. He took off his coat, not bothering to switch on any of the other lights. He ambled into his kitchen, restless. The space felt bright and open; he'd traded a lighter grained wood for the dark mahogany that had been the motif before the fire that had destroyed his apartment and nearly killed him eight months prior. The remodel made the 2 bedroom apartment feel bigger, a good thing, considering he no longer lived alone. His eyes traveled briefly to the door of the second bedroom, half wishing it would open. Half not.

He considered for a moment, one of the several expensive bottles of bourbon sitting in a glass doored cabinet before eschewing the idea. He sighed and turned his attention to the fridge. A beer maybe. Some food. Though the thought of preparing anything to eat at midnight was enough to suppress what little appetite he had. He pulled open the door. There, sitting on a dinner plate on the shelf above the vegetable crisper, was a large hunk of lasagna. A small crease of paper stood up like a tent read: Eat Something! Ezra plucked the note off the plate with an amused snort. Still, he really should eat something more than the two Old Fashions he'd consumed earlier, one while waiting for his CI, the other while with him. He removed the plate with his left hand, his right finding the neck of a local English Bitter beer. He closed the refrigerator with his knee.

While the microwave did it's work on the lasagna, Ezra poured the beer into a chilled pint glass he'd retrieved from his freezer. He took a drink and sighed, some of the tension he'd been holding ebbing out of his body. He was glad he'd bothered to buy a couple six packs when he, Vin and Hunter had discovered Denver's newest brewery a couple of weeks earlier. The microwave beeped. It smelled amazing. Not that he was surprised, Hunter watched more cooking shows than JD played video games, and she was an adept student.

He'd just pulled the plate from the microwave when he heard the voice behind him. "Glad you took me seriously." He turned, plate in hand. Samantha Hunter stood in the doorway to her room, shoulder leaning into the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest. Tousled shoulder length copper brown hair was still damp from the shower. An oversized, nearly threadbare hoodie he was pretty sure she'd picked up at a thrift store swallowed her lithe, athletic frame.

The men of Team 7 had a rather tumultuous history with Hunter, who they'd met some years earlier while on a case. Hunter, a Chicago crime family connected, high end art and jewel thief, had been recruited to work for the CIA as a means of penance for her crimes. She and Team 7 had unwittingly ended up working the same case. Afterward, Larabee had offered her a place on Team 7. And while she'd taken the job, her past had come calling. She'd left abruptly, and stayed gone for a year and a half with no word, till she'd been dropped back in their laps just over 9 months earlier, beat to hell and kick starting a deadly game with a man looking to destroy Team 7, and everyone associated with them. Hunter had come to live with Ezra then, a move that was meant to be temporary, until he realized he didn't want her to go. So, roommates. And it was a situation not without its perks, namely, food.

"Don't you have an early class?" Ezra asked. Hunter had taken a job at a local MMA gym as a martial arts instructor six months prior.

"Yep."

"Figured you'd be asleep."

She shrugged and started across the living room. Even partially hidden beneath the baggy clothes, it was obvious she moved with the elastic slink of an athlete. Hell, he'd wound up face down on the practice mats enough times sparring with her to know as much. "Don't sleep much," she said simply. That much was true. He'd come home late from the office enough to find her awake and puttering. He just wasn't sure it had been true before her abduction and subsequent torture and well,… the rest. His lips pulled downward at the familiar pang in his chest. Hunter reached the kitchen counter that divided it from the rest of the apartment and leaned over it, plucking the beer bottle from Ezra's hand and took a sip. "We can't all sleep like the dead Ez."

Ezra snatched the bottle right back and held it aloft. "Touché. One of my many skills." Hunter snorted and rolled her eyes. "Though Id surmise better sleep would go far to improve your disposition."

She lifted a singular eyebrow, "You calling me grumpy?"

"Tetchy," he corrected.

At that she barked out a laugh. "That's the same damn thing!"

Ezra grinned, green eyes twinkling with mirth. When he and Hunter had first met, they'd done almost nothing but irritate the hell out of one another. But as time passed their animosity and verbal sparring had become less barbarous and more teasing, growing into a solid friendship, though they still enjoyed pushing each other's buttons. He retrieved a fork from the utensils drawer. "True," he speared a corner of the lasagna slice, "but your choice of qualifiers was just so terribly pedestrian."

The grin remained on her lips. "First he calls me bitchy, then he insults my grammar."

"Not your grammar," he corrected between bites, "your vocabulary." One of his wood coasters that lived on the counter flew at his head. He ducked. "You realize that violent outbursts are the language of the uneducated?" He asked, droll. This time, the coaster hit him in the chest, dropping squarely on top of what remained of his dinner. He fished it gingerly off his plate with two fingers and set it in the sink. "Philistine," he grumbled.

"Pompous ass," Hunter shot back, though her shoulders shook with barely restrained laughter. It felt good to joke around with him. Ezra and light heartedness had become strangers as of late. At first, she hadn't thought much of it, after all, all of them had needed time to recover from the ordeal from last year. But while everyone else seemed, on the whole, working their way back to normal, Ezra hadn't. He was slower to laugh, quicker to close himself off, quicker to doubt his own judgement. And in an undercover agent, that was a dangerous way to live. So she worried. They all worried. But the more the Team worried, the more Ezra wore his mask of 'all right.'

"So," she took another sip of Ezra's beer, "what had you out so late? Hot date?" Ezra scoffed, his eyes flicking briefly to her face. Okay, no date, not exactly surprsing. So she pushed. "New case?"

Immediately, the light of amusement that had been dancing in his emerald eyes was snuffed out. His face went hard, expressionless. His back stiffened. "I believe I've made my views clear on this," he said flatly.

"Ah hell Ez, not like Vin ain't gonna just tell me tomorrow," Hunter argued.

The southerner turned away from her to put the plate in the dishwasher. "Well that is Mr. Tanner's mistake to make," bitterness colored the words. "But it remains that I, will not be the one to involve you in a dangerous case."

Hunter sighed, straightening away from the countertop as she pushed the half empty beer away from her. "Telling me about it isn't involving me in it."

"Your track record speaks otherwise."

"May I remind you that I used to do the job right along side you? And as for the thing with Walker? Not like he gave me a choice." Hunter crossed her arms over her chest. They'd been colleagues once, partners, equals. And now he walked on eggshells, and it hurt.

"But you did have a choice to let us handle it. Since you no longer do the job," he cast back over his shoulder. It was an old barb, and one he knew still stung. Which is why he used it. "And you couldn't help yourself. So yes, I am disinclined to give you details."

Hunter's face fell, and it felt like he'd just dropped a lead ball in her stomach. "You gotta quit treating me like I'm made of glass Ezra," she said softly to his turned back. "I don't break that easy." He didn't answer, didn't turn. She sighed again. "Night."

With that, she padded back to her bedroom. "No, not easy," he admitted, too quiet for her to hear, "but you do break." The events of eight months past had proven that. And it had been his fault, a fact that still gnawed at him. He glanced over his shoulder, but she was gone. The door to her room shut with a click.

-/-

Team 7 spent most of the next day in one of the ATF's glass walled conference rooms, getting up to speed on their most recently assigned case. Plus, discussing the finer points of Ezra's future cover. Chris stood at the head of the long table, like a college professor just back from a funeral, while JD clicked through slides on his computer, projected up on the wall behind Chris, as he spoke.

"Best anyone's been able to figure, Erikson buys his guns direct from a manufacturer out of China. He takes delivery in Tijuana and brings them across the border either there, Mexicali, Campo or Tecate, Border patrol officers are on his payroll, obviously, but so far no one in the California Agency has made any headway finding out who. His drivers pass through several Native American Reservation lands on their way out of the state, but predictably, no one there is talking either."

"The folks on those reservations," Nathan spoke up, "are some of the most disenfranchised and poor in this country. Not surprising they got no loyalty to some suit wearing fed looking down their nose at them."

"If this meeting is going to deteriorate into a diatribe on the newest of Mr. Jackson's social crusades," Ezra drawled, "may I opt out?" Across the table, Nathan shot him a scathing look. By all accounts, Ezra barely even noticed.

"Good to know you find the plight of those less fortunate as no more than a social media talking point," Nathan snapped.

"Mostly I just don't find their plight relevant to the topic at hand," Ezra replied blandly. "Which, need I remind you, is about the proliferation of illegal weapons currently being siphoned through our territorial jurisdiction. Maybe after we have figured out the immediate problem, which generally encompasses my survival, I'll take the time to care about the hardships of reservation life." A grunt passed Ezra's lips. "Though i doubt it." Nathan looked primed to explode.

"Enough." Chris's guttural growl sent the room into silence. "This ain't the time or place." Nathan had the good grace to look a little shame faced. Ezra just tapped the tip of a pen onto the conference table, an edgy metronome. He fixed Chris with a look of total, unrepentant, innocence. Chris lifted an eyebrow at the southerner. Ezra's expression didn't change.

Chris barely suppressed a sigh. It was shades of Ezra from four years ago, when he'd just joined the Team. A loner, prickly to the point of obnoxious to keep everyone at arms length. Like he didn't trust anyone, didn't trust himself. And Chris still didn't know what had flipped the switch. He wanted to ring it out of him, except he knew it wouldn't do any good. So instead, he moved the conversation along. "JD, where we at?"

"Edward Stanover," the kid punched a few buttons on his keyboard and the image on the screen became a headshot of Ezra, as well as his virtual profile. "Family had some money, oil mostly, which our dear Edward parlayed into a bunch of questionable investments and a party drug habit in college. Couple of low level arrests his family managed to pay his way out of, Edward made a small fortune in Crypto, only to lose most of it a couple years back." JD leaned back in his chair and grinned. "So our boy started funneling money into the Asado Cartel after that, till they got taken down by the FBI six months ago. So now Stanover is looking for a new investment. He's already got the contacts for distribution in the Northern mid west."

"Perfect," Chris grinned.

"My CI Daniel tells me that Erickson has already made contact with a player well connected through the South East. He's just missing the right individual to help him expand northward. Erikson has his way?" Ezra threw it out, "and there's a major new player in illegal arms sales across a broad swath of the US. The man has no scruples, he'll sell to anybody, the local gangbanger on the corner, or the militant hate group looking to eradicate government control. Erikson succeeds? We see the body count rise, significantly."

"Well then I guess it's a good thing we ain't gonna let that happen," Vin said with a lazy smile. A flurry of affirmations from the rest of the table followed the Texas sharpshooter's declaration.

"All right, all right," Chris waved his hands in the air, "little less preemptive self congratulation, little more focus." The men of Team 7 fell silent quickly, once again attentive. Banter and joking aside, they could all feel the gravity of the case ahead. Chris gave them all a nod. "Okay, Nathan, Josiah, get in touch with our California offices, see what information they do have regarding gun running over the border…."

-/-

Vin ducked the roundhouse right Sam aimed at his head. He ducked, and she immediately aimed a low kick at Vin's left leg. The sharpshooter hopped away awkwardly, and Sam followed through with a jab to his chin. His head snapped back and he retreated, eyes going slightly wide as he worked his jaw side to side. "Keep your gloves up," she instructed, a snap in her voice.

Vin scowled. "Damn Sammy, who pissed in your cheerios?" he asked. He swapped his stance so his left leg was to the rear. "You keep going after my bad leg."

"Because you keep leaving it open," she replied, ignoring his question. "You've been out of the cast 6 months Vin. PT cleared you. So stop favoring it." Then she threw him a grin. "You asked for this remember?"

"Don't remind me," he grumped. Since moving back to Denver officially, Sam had gotten a job at a mixed martial arts gym as an instructor. While many of the members of Team 7 came to spar on occasion, Vin had asked for her help getting back into top shape after the explosion that had nearly killed him. In the moment, he was regretting that particular decision.

"Your leg is fine," she told him, "it is in fact a bionic man leg complete with titanium plating. So check the leg kick!" She launched at him with a front kick that pushed him back a step, once again leaving his left leg exposed. Sam attacked. This time, Vin let the kick glance off his shin.

"Let me guess, Ezra?" Vin questioned as they circled each other again. Hazel eyes flicked briefly to his face. Yep, Ezra, surprise surprise. It usually was. In the time they'd been living together Vin had been privy to all manner of humorous stories. The two often seemed like oil and water, and in many ways they were, but mostly they just delighted in aggravating one another. Vin knew that beneath it was an incredibly strong friendship. More, perhaps, Vin mused, if one or both of them could get past their trauma borne hyper independence. Or something like that. He threw a series of short jabs at her raised gloves. She didn't take the bait. "What did he do this time?" Vin asked. "Ruin another date?"

Sam snorted. "Oh my god Vin, I swear he takes pleasure in it. One, just one normal date, is that too much to ask? Date showed up to get me the other night and Ezra answers the door… with all his weapons in clear view behind them, because he chose right then…" she feinted with her left, "to clean all his guns."

Vin chuckled. "Was that better or worse than the guy he suckered into playing blackjack with him?"

"Better. Marginally. At least this guy wasn't angry he'd lost $250 bucks." She threw another low kick. Vin checked it, his face twisting.

"And why didn't you stop him?" Vin asked from between clenched teeth. Okay, so now he wasn't dancing around it, it still hurt.

"Because when he got there I wasn't quite ready yet. And when he wanted to keep going after losing the first hundred, I kind of figured he deserved it."

"Uh huh." Vin circled to his right, bouncing up on the balls of his feet. "I take it you seek retribution on Ezra's dates?"

Sam snorted again. "Except Ez doesn't date. I think the whole Vanessa thing put him off," she said, referring to the former ATF agent Ezra had been sleeping with, only to find out later she was one half of a serial killer duo, with her own personal vendetta against the undercover agent. "Can't blame him I guess. That much crazy would put me off."

"Maybe," Vin admitted, feinting at her midsection. "Ever think it might be something else?"

Sam twisted her torso, sliding away from the feint. She sent a couple jabs at his gloves. "Oh don't start that again."

"Just saying Sammy, there's a reason he sabotages your dates."

Sam cocked her head. "Because he's a funny sadist?"

"Be serious."

"I am. You ever present this little theory of your to Ezra? Or just me?"

"Not sure you've noticed," Vin said, "but Ez ain't exactly the caring and sharing type." Frustrated, Sam's attention slipped. Vin dropped low, sweeping out her legs. Sam crashed to the mats with a grunt.

She coughed once and gave Vin a thumbs up. "Better," she croaked.

Vin grinned, and offered her a hand, which she took. He hoisted her to her feet with little effort. "Think on it Sammy."

She trudged past him, moving toward the bench at the edge of the mats and her water bottle. She took a sip. Vin followed behind her, the gray of his cutoff T-shirt dark where it clung to his back. "We're in a good place Vin. We're solid. And after everything I did to screw that up?" She shook her head and she worried her teeth across her lower lip.

"Well then I reckon," Vin wiped a towel over his face, "you'd best get used to Ez playin spoiler for your dates."

She sighed. "Great." She sat heavily on the bench. "Five minutes, then we go again." Vin groaned. "Oh you're fine," she said teasingly. "But, this break gives you ample time to tell me all about your new case."

"Ohhh now I get it," Vin sat beside her, taking a sip of his own water bottle. "THat's why you're annoyed. Ezra wouldn't tell you. And that just irks that part of you that wants her nose in everything."

"I'm a deeply curious human Vin," she said, feigning innocence, a smile in her eyes. "I see nothing wrong with that." Then she frowned. "But yeah, he wouldn't tell me. He's treating me like I'm some helpless victim, keeping me at arms length with anything important."

"I mean you did get shot Sammy." Vin bumped her with his shoulder. "Gettin a bit protective after that ain't so odd. And he feels responsible." She opened her mouth to protest, but Vin beat her to the punch. "You and I both know he ain't, but that's Ezra. And if it makes you feel any better, it's not just you he's been keeping at arms length lately."

Sam's shoulders slumped and she leaned heavily up against the sharpshooter. "You know, it really doesn't."

Vin slid an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "I know. Just give him some more time." Then the sharpshooter rose. "All right, let's do this. After? Tacos are on me, and I'll tell you what we're working on."

Sam smirked and rose to follow him. "Prepare to eat the mat Tanner."

-/-

Two days later Ezra walked into Chris' office without preamble, his burner phone held aloft. "We appear to have a situation," he announced.

Chris snapped the file folder he'd been looking at shut, his booted feet dropping off the edge of his desk. "What?"

"Daniel just phoned. Word is Erikson has locked down a partner for his northern expansion. He never even got the chance to throw my hat in the ring."

"Damn it," Chris swore softly. He tossed the file folder onto his desk. Paperwork like warrants for wire tapping and Attorney General approval weren't exactly going to be pressing if the whole thing blew up in their faces before it even started. "How sure are you?"

"Daniel has proven himself on several occasions to be an eminently reliable informant," Ezra said as he smoothed the front of his suit coat. "I'm inclined to believe his information is accurate."

Chris drummed his fist on the top of his desk. "This was our in!"

"I am aware," Ezra drawled. "But now we need to find ourselves a different one."

"No," Chris shook his head. "Everything is already set for this scenario, your cover, our warrants and wire taps. It could take weeks to reset. So," he shrugged, eyes focused off somewhere distant as his mind raced. "We just need to take out his new business partner. His avenue for selling up North fails? He'll start looking again, which means looking at you. You got a name?"

Yeah," Ezra said woodenly, "Alaveri... out of Chicago." Chris's icy blue eyes snapped up to Ezra's green. They both knew what that meant, and neither man liked it. Ezra frowned, his lips pressing thin. "We can find a different way," he protested, "a different information source".

"Oh yeah?" Chris ventured. "In the timeframe we need?" He shook his head. "This is the way this works Ezra, and we both know it. But I can do it if you don't want to."

The undercover agent sighed deeply, already reaching for his phone. This was exactly what he'd been looking to avoid. So much for clear boundaries. "I'll call," he grumbled. "But this is the end of it."

Their black clad leader's face turned stormy. "Givin me an ultimatum now?" He asked, his voice edged in flint.

Ezra didn't back down, just held Chris's eyes. "No," he said solemnly. "I'm asking,"

Chris crossed his jaw as he regarded the other man. Then he nodded. "We'll keep her out of it, much as we can. But you and I both know that's not a guarantee she won't stick her nose in it."

"I do," Ezra muttered, "and that is the object of my concern."

-/-

Chapter 1

Hopefully that's a nice teaser for what's to come. The story is starting to coalesce in my brain a bit more. This world is just so fun to explore. Please let me know if you enjoyed it.