Chapter Three

Coraline jolted awake in her computer chair, the harsh blare of an alarm piercing the thick fog of sleep that still clung to her. She blinked, momentarily disoriented, as she tried to remember where she was. Right—the Den, her computer screens flickering softly in the dim light. She rubbed her neck, sore from the awkward angle she'd slumped into at some point during the night.

“Ergonomic, my ass,” she muttered, stretching her arms above her head and rolling her shoulders, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. The Den’s silence greeted her, punctuated only by the hum of equipment and the soft glow of her monitors, which displayed a maze of maps, notes, and police blotter feeds she’d been scouring before she’d crashed. It was a chaotic display of information, but she knew it held the keys she was looking for.

Her stomach growled, and she glanced around, realizing she hadn’t eaten since the previous evening. Coffee would do for now, she thought, reaching for the thermos John had left for her on the workbench. She poured herself a cup, grateful for his foresight, and took a long sip, letting the warmth chase away the lingering grogginess.

The alarm, which was set to ensure she didn’t lose herself to exhaustion, still blinked on her screen, reminding her that the night’s work wasn’t over. There was a trail to follow.

“Alright, Vulpes, time to get back to it,” she said to herself, stealing her resolve. She scanned her notes again, her mind already sorting through the connections, the suspects, the leads she’d marked as priorities. The clock was ticking, and the city wouldn’t wait for her to be ready.

Vulpes leaned in to peer at an article that was displayed on a computer that caught her attention. “Doctor Lyra Sinclar: Groundbreaking work with psychoactive drugs” Vulpes noted she was working at the Univeristy of Toronto’s Department of Psychology and Centre for Addiction and Mental Health. 

Vulpes leaned back, mentally filing away the information on Dr. Lyra Sinclair. "A psychologist and chemist, with a foot in both mental health and pharmacology. If anyone in Toronto would know what those college kids are up to, it’d be her," she murmured to herself.

Though she doubted a well-respected academic was directly involved in any criminal activity, Vulpes knew that experts like Dr. Sinclair often had insights and connections that extended beyond the lab. Lyra's "groundbreaking" work with psychoactive substances could hold clues about the potential misuse of these chemicals, especially if her research had attracted curious young minds.

Vulpes made a quick note to reach out, formulating a subtle approach in her mind. She would be careful, of course, but if she could gain access to Dr. Sinclair’s research, it might bring her one step closer to uncovering what these kids were really after—and who else might be pulling the strings.

Vulpes sighed, glancing at the digital clocks on the wall of the den, each one set to a different time zone. It was a reminder of the dual life she led and the relentless hours her grandfather must have kept. The morning sun would already be pouring through cracks in the blinds in the manor above the den, signaling that her time as Vulpes was over, at least for now.

"How did Grandad do this?" she muttered, running a hand through her hair as she rose from her chair. She knew the answer, of course: he had been unbreakable, relentless, and in some ways, better at compartmentalizing. Coraline was learning the hard way that being a lawyer by day and a vigilante by night was a life of sacrifices, a balancing act that required every bit of resolve.

With a stretch, she left the den, closing the concealed door behind her as she prepared to trade her mask and cape for the perfectly pressed suit of Coraline Penrose. She needed to get herself ready for the day—shower, a real breakfast, and the outward mask of the young, ambitious lawyer she was supposed to be. She was Coraline now, fresh out of college and heiress to the Penrose legacy, and today, that part of her life demanded attention.

Alice Little sat at the small café table, her petite frame almost hidden in the chair, looking as if she wished she could shrink even smaller to avoid attention. Dressed in a simple light blouse and a soft, knee-length skirt, she looked out of place amidst the more fashion-forward crowd around her. Her platinum blonde hair fell loosely over her shoulders, framing her fair-skinned, delicate features. Her wide blue eyes glanced around nervously, darting away whenever she felt someone might look her way. Everything about her—from her reserved posture to the way she seemed to keep her arms close to her body—conveyed a desire to go unnoticed.

Across from her, Martha Vanhorn was the opposite in nearly every way. Tall and athletic, Martha radiated a quiet confidence even as she sat casually, one leg crossed over the other. Her black hair, cut in a short, bold pageboy style, framed her angular face and added an edgy touch to her otherwise casual outfit: a simple black leather jacket over a fitted white tank top, paired with jeans and a sturdy belt. She exuded a kind of defiant elegance, a sharp contrast to Alice's timid demeanor. Martha’s intense gaze flicked impatiently towards the clock, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the table as she muttered, “She’s late. Only day you have free in two weeks, and Coraline sleeps in. That’s just like her.”

Despite the impatience in her tone, there was an unmistakable fondness in her expression as she spoke about Coraline. The two ladies had arrived at the restaurant for breakfast and gotten a table for three though both had suspected Coraline would be late. Punctuality had not been her strong point in the last few months and was becoming the butt of Martha’s jokes. 

Alice shrugged slightly then offered a smile to Martha “I’m sure she has a good reason, and she is never too late” 

Before Martha could reply the third chair was pulled out and Coraline sat down at the table with an apologetic smile “Sorry I’m late!” 

Mathra raised an eyebrow and smirked “Up partying again?”

Coraline reached for a menu and added “Just enjoying my youth” 

Martha chuckled, her smirk widening as she leaned back in her chair. "Enjoying your youth, huh? Well next time don’t leave me out, unlike Alice I’m still single and ready to party”

Alice gave Coraline a warm smile, clearly relieved to have her friend here, bringing some warmth and laughter to the table. “We were just starting to wonder if you’d overslept,” she said, her tone gentle and without any hint of judgment.

Coraline flashed a mischievous grin as she set the menu down. “Oversleep? Me? Never! I was just… strategically planning my arrival,” she quipped, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear with a feigned air of dignity.

Martha rolled her eyes. “I bet that's code for I hot a date and had to get them out of the house.”

Alice giggled, the sound soft and delicate, contrasting with the teasing banter between her friends. Though quieter, she seemed more at ease now that Coraline was here. Alice had always been the more reserved of the trio, preferring her books and research to the party scene, but she valued these moments with her friends.

“Alright, alright,” Coraline conceded, laughing. “I might’ve stayed out a bit too late, but it was worth it. Besides, it’s not every day I get to catch up with you two.”

“Catch up, huh?” Martha leaned forward, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well, we’re here now, so spill it. What’s been keeping you so busy?”

Coraline shrugged, trying to downplay it. “Oh, you know… work, family stuff, and a bit of that ‘young and free’ lifestyle.”

Alice’s gaze softened. “Just make sure you’re taking care of yourself too. You’ve seemed… a bit distracted lately.”

Coraline looked at her friends, touched by their concern. “I know. I appreciate you two looking out for me. Life’s just… well, it’s complicated right now.”

Martha gave a supportive nod, and Alice reached over to gently pat her hand. “We’re here for you, Coraline. Whenever you need us.”

With a renewed sense of camaraderie, the three friends settled into their breakfast, laughter and stories filling the space as they shared a rare moment together, away from the complications and secrets that each of them carried in their own way.

Part way through their crepes and fresh fruit Martha blurted out “Alice tell her before you forget”

Alice blinked and flushed slightly and glanced to the side “I.. uh, I was going to get to that I was just waiting for the right time”

Martha gave Alice a look that said sure you were sweetie that made Alice huff slightly and continue.

“Fine, well its um... just that well.. Micheal asked me to marry him...” Alice couldnt help it as a wide smile crept across her face, her blue eyes lighting up.

Coraline paused mid way through eatting a strawberry and let that sink in, Alice had been dating Micheal Macentyre for only five months maybe four now and she had asked her to marry him? Something about that didn’t sit well with her. She wanted to say more but Alice was happier then Coraline had ever seen her and maybe just maybe she had changed the playboy heir of Macentyre systems.

Coraline forced a smile, her eyes darting to Martha, who looked equally surprised but quickly hid it behind a congratulatory grin. "Wow, Alice! That’s... that’s huge! I mean, congratulations!" she managed, trying to mask her own unease.

Martha leaned forward, her voice filled with genuine excitement. "That’s incredible! I never thought I’d see the day, Alice. You’re practically glowing!"

Alice’s cheeks flushed even more, and she ducked her head slightly, a bashful smile playing on her lips. “I know it’s soon, but… I really think he’s the one. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.” Her voice softened, and Coraline could see the vulnerability there, the hope that this was real, that Michael was the fairytale ending she deserved.

Coraline’s fingers toyed with her fork as she struggled to push aside her reservations. Michael Macentyre, she thought, the same Michael whose reputation was less about corporate meetings and more about high-society parties and reckless stunts. She wanted to believe that he could change, that maybe Alice’s kindness had reached him, but something didn’t sit right. She decided to tread carefully, not wanting to dim Alice's happiness.

"Well," Coraline began slowly, "if he makes you this happy, then that’s all that matters, right? Have you told your family yet?"

Alice shook her head, a bit of nervousness crossing her face. "Not yet… I wanted to tell you two first. You’re… well, you’re my family too." Her eyes glistened a bit as she looked at Coraline and Martha, her two closest friends who had always supported her in a way no one else had.

Martha’s face softened, reaching across the table to squeeze Alice’s hand. "Well, we’re thrilled for you, Alice. But," she added with a teasing smirk, "if he ever does anything to make you regret this, he’ll have to answer to me."

"And me," Coraline added, her voice steady, though her gaze was serious. "We only want what’s best for you, Alice. You deserve someone who truly appreciates you."

Alice’s smile wavered just a little, but she nodded, looking between her two friends. “Thank you, both of you. I know… I know this might seem sudden, but I really do believe in him, he is my prince charming”

Coraline returned her smile, feeling a pang of worry in her chest but pushing it down. If Michael Macentyre isn’t good for her, she thought to herself, he’ll have to deal with more than just Martha.

The day drifted by in a pleasant blur, with the three of them strolling through the city like tourists, admiring art and indulging in delicious meals at cozy restaurants. The laughter, the stories, the comfortable silences—it was the kind of day Coraline cherished but rarely allowed herself to enjoy in the last few months of her life.

But as the sun began to dip and the city lights flickered on, the three friends reached the inevitable point of parting ways. Alice’s engagement news still lingered in the back of Coraline’s mind, an unease she couldn't shake. She forced a smile as she hugged Alice goodbye, making a mental note to keep an eye on Michael Macentyre. Just in case.

“You two make sure to take care of yourselves,” she said, glancing between Alice and Martha, her gaze lingering on Alice with a touch of protectiveness.

“Don’t worry about me!” Martha laughed, giving her a playful nudge. “You’re the one we should be worried about, Coraline. Make sure you’re not up until dawn working on... cases or, you know…” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, hinting at Coraline’s late-night activities without outright saying anything.

Coraline chuckled, playing along. “I’ll be sure to get a full six hours of sleep just for you.”

Alice smiled, her eyes soft and appreciative. “Thanks for today, both of you. I needed this.”

“Anytime,” Coraline replied, squeezing her friend’s hand. She could see the joy and excitement bubbling in Alice, but there was also a certain vulnerability—something fragile that made Coraline’s protective instincts flare. Alice was like family, she reminded herself. Family that you’d do anything to protect.

As they each went their separate ways, Coraline felt the weight of her other life creeping back in, settling on her shoulders as the city lights cast long shadows across the streets. The Vulpes would soon be prowling those very shadows, hunting down leads and keeping the city safe and more specifically heading to the University of Toronto and the lab of one Doctor Lyra Sinclar. 

“Doctor Sinclair!” the older man in the suit spoke her name sternly as he leaned intowards her. He was balding and wore a brown suit but held himself like he was royalty. “While your work is proven invaluable we have our reservations about the ethical and moral bounderies you are pushing”

Dr. Lyra Sinclair sat across from the man, her expression carefully neutral but her blue eyes sharp and unyielding. Her dishwater blonde hair was styled in a loose, professional wave, framing her delicate features in a way that softened her intensity just a bit. She wore a crisp white lab coat over her work attire—a tailored blouse and dark slacks—that spoke to her attention to detail and dedication to her field. Her posture was rigid, almost defiant, as if bracing herself for yet another lecture from someone who couldn’t fully grasp the significance of her research. To Lyra, every second spent in this conversation felt like wasted time that could be used in her lab.

She clasped her hands together, resisting the urge to roll her eyes as the man leaned in closer, his gaze stern, attempting to assert his authority.

"Robert," she began, her voice calm and unwavering, "you've already cut my funding, and we both know the limitations that’s put on my work. I’m right on the edge of breakthroughs that could redefine everything we know about cognitive enhancement and mental health treatment. Imagine the possibilities—unlocking the human mind's potential, curing conditions that were once considered untreatable."

She leaned forward slightly, fixing her intense blue gaze on him. She could see his discomfort, a subtle shift in his posture that betrayed his unease. To Lyra, people like Robert were predictable; she had a knack for picking apart their insecurities, for finding the chinks in their armor. And Robert, with his thinly veiled disdain for her methods, was an open book.

"But instead of trusting my expertise, you’re questioning my ethics," she continued, her tone laced with subtle disdain. "Do you know what it’s like to be on the verge of a discovery that could change the world, only to be told to slow down, to pull back? You’re stifling innovation, and frankly, I expected more vision from someone in your position."

Robert’s expression tightened, but Lyra pressed on, seizing the opportunity to push the buttons she knew would provoke him. "I’m not asking you to understand the intricacies of my research—that’s beyond your field, after all. But I am asking for you to step back and let me do what you hired me to do. I have the data. I have the proof. All I need is the support to bring this project to completion."

She could sense his wavering resolve, the slight crack in his carefully maintained facade. Lyra knew she was walking a thin line, but she had learned long ago that the people holding the purse strings often needed a little nudge—or a shove—to see beyond their limited understanding.

“I don’t like where things are going Lyra, the students you tested on were left shaken, they may even require psychiatric care and addiction services” Robert leaned back and folded his arms. “If they hadn’t signed those legal waivers we would be sued back to the stone age!”

Lyra arched her finger tips and smiled “Then it's a good thing they were volunteers who did sign a waiver, everything we are doing is legally acceptable Robert, and one has to break a few eggs to make omelettes as they say”

Robert's face tightened, his jaw clenching as he took in her words. "That's precisely what concerns me, Lyra," he said, his voice laced with frustration. "These are human beings, not just test subjects, and the aftermath of your experiments—the psychological strain, the dependency on the substances—they’re not ‘eggs’ to be cracked for the sake of science."

Lyra's smile didn’t falter. She pressed her fingertips together thoughtfully, leaning forward. "I understand your concerns, Robert, truly," she replied, her tone smooth and measured, though her eyes held an almost detached amusement. "But you and I both know that breakthroughs don’t happen without risks. Every great leap forward in science required a certain… sacrifice. These students volunteered because they believed in the potential, just like I do. And yes, the experiences have been intense, but we're exploring uncharted territory here. The mind is a vast, untapped resource, and there’s no discovery without a few unforeseen side effects."

Robert looked at her, his discomfort growing into something close to alarm. "Unforeseen side effects?" he repeated, his voice dropping lower. "This isn’t a game, Lyra. You’re pushing boundaries that even the most experimental psychologists won’t cross, and frankly, it’s starting to feel reckless."

Lyra’s smile faded slightly, a shadow passing over her expression. "Reckless?" she echoed, her voice taking on a steely edge. "The only recklessness I see is the hesitation to fund projects that could reshape our understanding of the human mind. My research has potential, Robert, and you know it. You’re just too frightened to grasp the scope of it."

She leaned back, a slight, almost mocking smile returning to her face. "But if you’re uncomfortable with progress, I’m sure there are other funding boards, other investors, who aren’t afraid to take the necessary steps forward."

Robert's brow furrowed, clearly torn between his wariness and the undeniable allure of her research’s potential impact. Lyra knew she had him on the line, and her tone softened just a fraction, offering him a way back in. "All I’m asking for is support. The legalities are in place, and I assure you, any… side effects can be mitigated. Let me do my work, and you’ll see the results you're looking for. After all, we’re on the brink of something monumental here."

She held his gaze, her own unwavering. To her, this wasn’t just research; it was the key to unlocking the mind’s hidden potential. Anything, or anyone, who tried to stand in her way was simply an obstacle to be dismantled or circumvented.

Robert huffed and shook his head “It’s not just me Lyra the board isn’t happy, tone back the experimentation or we will shut down everything!” He snapped at her before leaving the conversation and the room, as if he was afraid to risk letting Lyra any deeper into his psyche. 

Lyra was for lack of a term left hanging, he had left shutting down any further manipulation and the theat of her experiments being shut down entirely now hung in the air like a lead balloon.

Lyra stood there, her hands clenched at her sides, the echo of Robert's ultimatum lingering in the cold silence of the room. She took a deep, steadying breath, willing herself to remain calm, but the fire of anger simmered just below the surface. How dare he, she thought. How dare he and the board stand in the way of progress, of the future she envisioned—a future where she held the key to unlocking the deepest recesses of the human mind.

She adjusted her lab coat, her expression hardening as she considered her options. There was no way she would let them strip away everything she'd worked for, not now, not when she was so close. If they thought they could scare her into compliance, they didn’t know her at all. She would continue her research, one way or another. If the board cut her funding, she’d find another backer, someone who wasn’t afraid of a little moral gray area. Someone with vision.

Her mind began to race, calculating her next moves. She would need to be more discreet, more careful, to keep her most ambitious experiments hidden from prying eyes. There were ways to continue without the board’s interference—she simply had to be clever enough to circumvent their oversight.

As she looked around her lab, her resolve solidified. Robert and his “concerns” could try to block her, but she would not be held back by small-minded fears. If she had to go underground, she would. If she had to bend a few rules, so be it. After all, history only remembered those bold enough to change it.

“Doctor Sinclair” 

The voice jolted her and she snapped her head to see the source, a woman in a cape and an orange and black costume with a distinctly fox-like visage. Who had crept up on her in absolute silence.

A costumed Vigilante? One who looked suspiciously like the one making the tabloids they called the Fox Lyra stiffed unsure what to expect though a part of her mind was already curious, she had of course read the works on the nature of the vigilante psychosis and was as intrigued as any psychologist as to what made the people who donned masks to fight crime tick but that didn’t preclude her from understanding that she could very well be in danger from this armed costumed woman.

“I need your expertise Doctor, Im tracking a theft and I suspect the chemicals were used in the production of some kind of psychoactive drugs” the Vulpes was right to the point and kept her body language neutral she didn’t want to make the doctor panic or scream after all that would defeat the purpose of seeking her out after all. 

Lyra took a moment, composing herself as she studied the vigilante standing before her. There was something surreal about discussing psychoactive drugs with a masked stranger in her lab, but Lyra's curiosity was piqued. This Fox was intriguing—a mystery wrapped in tactical gear and orange accents.

“Well, there are a number of psychoactive drugs in common use and availability on the streets,” she began, choosing her words carefully. “However, if the chemicals were stolen from a lab or a legitimate supplier, it’s likely we’re dealing with something far more potent—and possibly experimental. I assume the effects were significant enough for you to notice, yes?”

The Vulpes nodded. “The buyers weren’t your typical criminals either. Seemed young, almost… educated. I suspect they’re producing something unique, perhaps to appeal to the academic crowd—college parties or underground markets catering to thrill-seekers.”

Lyra’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Ah, I see. So we’re not just talking about recreational drugs, but something designed to enhance, enlighten, or perhaps... distort? Maybe a cognitive enhancer, or a compound designed to induce a higher state of awareness or euphoria. With the right ingredients, one could concoct something quite… enlightening.”

The Vulpes tilted her head, catching the edge in Lyra’s tone. “Would you know which compounds might fit that description, Doctor?”

Lyra tapped her chin thoughtfully, her mind already running through possibilities. “There’s a wide range, but given the nature of what you’re describing, I’d start with compounds derived from potent psychedelics or dissociatives. For instance, Dimethyltryptamine—or DMT—is known to produce intense visual and cognitive distortions, though it’s rare and requires a certain degree of sophistication to synthesize properly.”

She glanced at the Vulpes, gauging her reaction before continuing. “Alternatively, something like Ketamine or even more experimental compounds based on the tryptamine structure could be repurposed. If they’ve managed to get their hands on precursor chemicals, they could be brewing something with effects similar to LSD but far more potent, perhaps even bordering on dangerous territory.”

The Vulpes absorbed this, her gaze steady. “What would happen if someone inexperienced started experimenting with these compounds without proper supervision or understanding?”

Lyra’s eyes narrowed slightly, her tone shifting to one of caution. “It could be disastrous. High doses, particularly of experimental formulas, could lead to permanent psychological effects—schizophrenia-like symptoms, delusions, or worse. There’s a reason these substances are restricted; tampering with them irresponsibly could ruin lives, or even end them.”

She paused, curiosity brimming in her gaze. “But tell me, Vulpes, why do you seek this knowledge? Surely there are others who might handle such investigations.”

The Vulpes hesitated for a moment, then replied, “Because people are getting hurt, and if someone is creating something this dangerous, they need to be stopped. I’m not here to cause trouble, Doctor—I’m here to prevent it.”

Lyra nodded, a hint of respect flickering in her eyes. “Very well. If you’re truly invested in this, I’ll help you. But you must understand the risks. Those involved in this kind of operation won’t take kindly to interference, especially from a masked vigilante.”

The Vulpes’s lips curved into a small smile. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Lyra glanced around the lab, then leaned in slightly. “There’s something else you should know. These sorts of compounds... they can be quite addictive, particularly to those seeking power or enlightenment. Whoever’s behind this might be driven by something more than just profit.”

The Vulpes nodded thoughtfully. “Thanks, Doctor. I’ll keep that in mind.”

As she turned to leave, Lyra’s voice stopped her. “Be careful, Vulpes. These people may be playing with powers they can’t control. And if you find yourself needing… more specialized insight, you know where to find me.”

The Vulpes gave a respectful nod and slipped out, leaving Lyra alone, her mind now buzzing with thoughts of the masked vigilante and the strange, dangerous game that was unfolding in Toronto.

Vulpes crouched on the edge of the rooftop, her keen eyes scanning the courtyard below as a cool night breeze swept across the campus. She let Lyra’s words echo in her mind, considering the implications of what she’d learned. Experimental psychoactive drugs… a dangerous underground market… and young, ambitious minds tampering with compounds that could warp reality itself. This wasn’t just about a crime ring; this was something darker, something that could devastate lives without a single bullet or blade.

She adjusted her mask, the "fox ears" on her cowl picking up distant sounds—the hum of passing cars, the chatter of a few late-night students heading home, and the rustling of leaves in the wind. For now, the campus was quiet. But if Lyra was right, this was just the calm before a storm, one driven by misguided ambition and a thirst for knowledge without boundaries.

Her gaze flicked to the chemistry lab below, where Lyra’s light still burned. Vulpes knew that the doctor’s moral compass was shaky at best, but if her warnings were true, this was a ticking time bomb, waiting for the right—or wrong—push.

As she mulled over her next move, a distant figure caught her attention. Someone was lingering near the side entrance of the lab building, their behavior nervous, glancing over their shoulder as they fumbled with the door. Vulpes narrowed her eyes, watching closely. The figure finally managed to slip inside, disappearing down the dimly lit hallway.

Intrigued, she adjusted her night vision lenses and took a silent leap to the adjacent rooftop, following the intruder’s movements through the glass panes. Whoever they were, they didn’t move like a typical student or faculty member; their motions were quick, almost frantic, as if they were searching for something… or hiding it.

Vulpes felt a surge of adrenaline as she recognized the young man. One of the buyers from last night, sneaking into the labs after hours—this was exactly the lead she’d been hoping for. She pressed herself flat against the rooftop, following his movements with the practiced patience of a predator, every sense heightened. His face looked even younger under the harsh moonlight, an air of nervousness about him that told her he wasn’t here out of curiosity. No, he had a purpose, one he was likely desperate to fulfill.

Keeping her steps silent, she shadowed him as he moved down the dimly lit corridor, his shoulders hunched and eyes darting around as if fearing someone might spot him. He stopped in front of a locked door, fumbling in his pocket for a keycard he must have either stolen or borrowed without permission. Vulpes watched intently as he swiped it, the small beep of the lock disengaging echoing in the stillness.

Once inside, he closed the door softly behind him. Vulpes crept closer, perching herself just above a high window that overlooked the lab. She adjusted her night vision lenses, allowing her to see everything clearly through the glass. The young man moved quickly, opening drawers, shifting through cabinets, his movements frantic and uncoordinated as if he was running out of time.

She considered her options. She could wait and let him collect whatever he came for, then follow him to see who he delivered it to, or she could confront him now and possibly scare some answers out of him. Either way, she’d have to act fast.

Making her decision, Vulpes slipped down to the side door, timing her entrance with his back turned. She approached with the quiet precision she’d mastered, stopping just behind him. Before he could even sense her presence, she made her move.

“You lost?” Her voice was low, steady, yet it carried a dangerous edge.

The young man froze, the vial he’d been holding slipping from his fingers and clattering to the floor. He whipped around, eyes wide with fear as he took in her masked face and the striking yellow of her night vision lenses.

“I-I... I just...,” he stammered, backing up against the counter as if it could somehow shield him from the figure before him.

“Last night’s purchase wasn’t enough?” Vulpes asked, crossing her arms. “Or are you here to clean up your tracks?”

The color drained from his face, his breathing shallow as the implications of her words sank in. “How… how did you—”

“That’s not important. What’s important is that you’re trespassing, and you’re stealing chemicals you don’t understand,” she said, her tone both harsh and calculated. “So tell me, who are you working for? Who are you supplying?”

The young man looked as if he was on the verge of breaking down and whimpering then he did something that made Vulpes second guess her wisdom in coming out from hiding. He dropped down and yelled out “she is in here!”

The young man's plea echoed through the sterile lab, and before Vulpes could react, the heavy metal doors burst open. Harsh fluorescent lights flickered on, illuminating the room in unforgiving brightness, and four hulking figures filled the doorway. Greek Syndicate enforcers, unmistakable in their menacing stance and the tattoos that coiled up their arms, prowled in like wolves closing in on prey. They wielded an assortment of weapons—baseball bats, chains, and a few glinting switchblades, their edges catching the cold light.

Vulpes narrowed her eyes, mentally mapping out her surroundings. She’d been baited—drawn in like a rookie. Her heart pounded, but her face remained a mask of calm beneath the yellow lenses. She had taken down her share of thugs before, but four against one, with no clear exit, was pushing it. She knew the odds were stacked against her.

One of the enforcers sneered, raising his bat and giving it a casual swing. “Look at this, boys. The little fox wandered right into the trap. Too bad, sweetheart.”

Vulpes took a slow, measured breath, her mind racing through every trick and move in her arsenal. This wasn’t going to be a clean getaway, but if she was going down, she’d make them remember it.

She lowered herself into a fighting stance, the quiet hum of adrenaline sharpening her senses. “If you boys wanted to dance,” she said, her voice a steady taunt, “you could’ve just asked.”

The enforcers charged forward, weapons raised. Vulpes braced herself, every muscle coiled and ready. The trap was sprung, but the fox wasn’t out yet.