The S&S headquarters was a study in controlled chaos, nestled in a nondescript building that smelled of stale coffee, ozone from discharged magic, and the faint, coppery tang that always followed violence. Captain Orlen seemed to wear a permanent scowl etched into his furrowed brow these days, pacing before the case board. Photographs of the mutilated Fae were pinned there, their missing eyes like dark, accusatory holes.
"Update is; we got f**k-all," Orlen grumbled, not looking at them as they entered. "No magical signatures, no forensics, no witnesses who aren't magically-compromised or scared shitless." He finally stopped, fixing them with a tired glare. "But we got a whisper from Glamorcove. Some half-caste stick-fetcher saw a humanoid lurking near the last dump site the night before t
