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Caitlyn didn't wait for the fire to cool. As the smoke cleared from the Hexgate docks, she was already on her knees, sifting through the charred remains of the airship.
She was a natural. While the other Enforcers were busy standing around looking important, Caitlyn was docunting the debris. She found a puddle of unburnt violet Shimr—the chemical stench was unmistakable. She found fragnts of a grenade casing painted with erratic, neon graffiti. And then, there was the strangest clue of all: a heavy, industrial streetlamp lying in the center of the blast radius.
"What kind of person uses a streetlamp as a weapon?" she whispered, her brow furrowing.
She tracked down the Hexgate Warden, finding him cowering in a storage closet, his knees knocking together. Caitlyn flashed her gold Enforcer badge, her gaze sharp. "Officer Kiramman. I need a statent. Tell everything."
The Warden looked up, trembling. "Is... is it over? Are the demons on the flying boards gone?"
"The ship is scrap tal and I didn't see any survivors," Caitlyn said flatly. "Start talking. Who attacked?"
The Warden hesitated, his eyes darting toward the door. "Has... has Captain Marcus arrived yet?"
"I'm here now. Why does that matter?"
"Officer, I can't say anything until the Captain is here. I have a family to think about."
Caitlyn leaned in, her height making her look even more imposing. "I'm the one standing here, and I'm the one asking. Why are you so—"
"Caitlyn. That's enough."
A middle-aged man with tired eyes and a stiff uniform stepped into the room. It was Marcus.
"Captain," Caitlyn said, standing straight. "I was just beginning the interrogation. This Warden—"
"Go ho, Caitlyn," Marcus interrupted. "You're being reassigned. Effective imdiately."
Caitlyn's face went pale. "Reassigned? This happened on my watch! I have clues, Captain! The graffiti, the Shimr, the streetlamp—"
Marcus pulled a letter from his coat and handed it to her. His voice was blunt, cutting through her protest. "Do you think your mother wouldn't know about an explosion this size? The second she heard you were in the center of a terrorist attack, she had your transfer papers signed. You're off the case."
"This is ridiculous!" Caitlyn slamd her badge onto the floor. "What's the point of this uniform if I'm just a glorified tourist? Every ti a real case cos up, I'm shoved into a corner!"
Marcus sighed, picking up the badge and brushing off the soot. "So things are better left uninvestigated, Caitlyn. One day, you'll realize that the truth in this city is a very dangerous thing to hold."
He tried to hand the badge back, but Caitlyn crossed her arms, her eyes burning with indignation.
"If you don't take it," Marcus warned, "I'll give it to the Councilor myself."
Caitlyn snatched the badge and stord out, her blood boiling.
Back in the room, Marcus grabbed the Warden by his collar, his voice a low growl. "How did it get this bad? This was supposed to be a quiet hand-off."
"It was the Firelights!" the Warden squealed. "They ca out of nowhere! The Shimr exploded, the pirates are all dead—"
Marcus rubbed his temples. He was trapped between the Council's fury and Silco's vengeance. He needed a scapegoat. "Listen to . The Shimr didn't exist. This was a pirate raid. The Bilgewater crew tried to rob a legitimate rchant vessel and blew it up in the struggle. That is the story. You tell the Council anything else, and you'll find yourself at the bottom of the Pilt."
The Warden nodded frantically. He knew how the world worked.
Caitlyn didn't go ho to play the "Good Daughter." She went ho, spread a map across her bedroom floor, and began to piece together the evidence she'd "borrowed" from the scene.
"The purple liquid is Shimr. Volatile. Explodes when it ets a spark," she noted, circling the Zaun on her map. "The grenades are improvised... but the streetlamp? That's an Zaun signature if I've ever seen one."
Her mother tried to console her at dinner, ntioning that the "Pirate Case" had been solved, but Caitlyn wasn't buying it. The evidence didn't point to pirates; it pointed to the Sump.
The next day, a contact in the departnt gave her a tip: "They caught one of 'em. A big guy with tattoos, bald as a billiard ball. He was shot in the leg during the chaos. They've got him in Stillwater."
Caitlyn didn't hesitate. She chartered a small boat and sailed overnight to the island prison. "I need to see Prisoner 2135," she told the head guard.
The guard shrugged. "Sure. But he's not going to be much of a conversationalist right now."
"Why not?"
"There was... an incident. His jaw is currently wired shut."
"Who hit him?" Caitlyn asked, her investigator's instinct twitching.
The guard pointed toward a high-security block. "Cell 516. The pink-haired one. She doesn't like visitors, and she definitely doesn't like Silco's people."
Caitlyn walked toward the cell. The air was thick with the sound of rhythmic thudding. Inside, a woman with pink hair and bandaged hands was pulverizing the stone wall, her movents a blur of practiced violence. Sweat dripped from her brow as she trained, her eyes fixed on an invisible enemy.
Caitlyn stopped at the bars. The woman stopped punching and turned, her roguish, handso profile catching the dim light of the prison.
"You're a long way from the Academy, Cupcake," the woman said, her voice a low, dangerous rasp. "Who are you?"
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