Commissioned Artwork by @PTGHO (Paz The Great Horned One)

  Fire and smoke.

  Heat and ash.

  Hot—choking—relentless.

  Buck stood in the middle of a burning warehouse, shouting himself hoarse over the roar of the flames. Smoke blistered his throat. Walls cracked and folded in on themselves. From the far end, a fleeing suspect in a green suit stopped, turned, and laughed. A horrible, alien laugh that scratched at Buck's ears.

  The fire warped around the figure and its face melted away like wax into that of a charred, disfigured fox. Bloodshot eyes fixed him with quiet disappointment.

  "WRONG ANSWER!" it screamed. "So, where's the right one?"

  Something at his side stirred. A body sprawled in a pool of blood. Clothes smoldering with a dying flame. Buck reached out but the floor split under him. He fell, weightless, down into the darkness.

  His hand brushed against something and he grasped it, barely catching onto a rope stretched taut over a large checkered pattern below. A giant chessboard. The rope, simple red string tied to oversized chess pieces already in play. They moved of their own accord, tangling him into a web. The strings squeezed tight, crushing the air from his lungs. As he struggled for one last breath, the threads pulled to the snapping point and he dropped—through the board, into an icy black void.

  A solid thunk to the top of his head snapped him awake. He was upside-down, tangled in a mess of bedding that smelled faintly of perfume. The room was unfamiliar—warm, bright, undeniably feminine.

  A mirrored vanity crowded with makeup jars and perfume bottles sat in the corner. Light filtered through gauzy curtains, softening the edges of everything. A blush-pink folding screen half-concealed a walk-in closet so full of dresses that fabric seemed to spill out in a waterfall of sequins, silk, and satin.

  Untangling himself from the comforter, he realized he was down to his boxers. Last night’s memories trickled back—the fire, the soldiers, escorting Goldie home. She’d asked him to stay, just in case those men came back. He’d meant to take the couch. Somewhere between her offering him tea and his second yawn, he must’ve passed out.

  "Morning, sleepy head. Sweet dreams I hope?"

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  Goldie leaned against the bedroom doorway, one hand holding a coffee cup, the other loosely buttoning a crisp men’s dress shirt. His eyes ran down along her silhouette. Her legs were bare and the shirt barely qualified as decent.

  "G-Goldie?!" Buck stammered, glancing from her to the bed and back again.

  Her laugh curled around the steam from her cup. "Relax, detective. Your clothes reeked of smoke. I tossed them in the wash. You looked so uncomfortable on the couch, so I moved you. Don’t worry—you have nothing I haven’t seen before." She eyed him over her mug with a sly smile.

  Buck tightened the sheet around his waist. "Pants."

  She tilted her head toward a chair by the vanity. His trousers were neatly folded over the back. He didn’t move. Goldie rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine." She ducked behind the folding screen, the sound of hangers rattling as she rummaged. "You're no fun in the mornings."

  Buck disrobed from the sheets and dressed quickly. His shirt was tossed over the side of the screen and a fuzzy pink robe was pulled down in exchange. The shirt was still faintly warm from her touch, and her perfume clung to the fabric—rose with the faintest hint of jasmine.

  Three sharp knocks rattled the front door.

  "Just a minute!" she called, already stepping into the hall. Buck heard a muffled greeting from two police officers. Her reply was light and friendly. "Of course—please, come in. Give me a moment to slip into something more suitable."

  Buck made his way to the kitchen and one of the canines did a double-take. "Buck? That you?"

  "Charlie!" Buck grinned. "How’s the family?" He remembered Charlie from the academy—good man, better beat cop. The other officer turned away to speak something into his radio.

  "They're all great Buck, just great! Baby number two is due any day now," Charlie beamed.

  "Congratulations! Happy to hear it," Buck replied with a salute from his coffee mug. The other officer pulled Charlie aside. Straining to listen in, Buck caught a familiar name. Lieutenant Zywrath.

  Charlie’s smile faded to professional flatness. "It's fortunate you're here, actually. We were tasked to bring Miss Songbird down to the station to get a statement about the events last night at the GSL. We'd heard you were there too but we couldn't find you at your office or apartment. We had no idea you'd be here…"

  He trailed off as he tried not to look towards the bedroom door. Buck caught a whiff of Goldie from his shirt and felt his face get hot. "Either way, we're gonna need you to come with us."

  Buck set his cup on the counter. "Assuming I was anywhere near there last night, why would the lieutenant think I was involved?"

  The two officers exchanged a look before Charlie answered. "The radio. Another one of those broadcasts from The Spotlight went out this morning. They dropped your name along with a few others. Just come with us. The lieutenant only wants to talk."

  He'd heard that one before, but making a fuss would only raise questions. Maybe he could find out what they knew about that soldier group.

  Goldie rejoined them, dressed much more conservatively in a thin purple blouse and dark slacks. Buck, without missing a beat, offered her his arm. She hesitated, then smiled and took it.

  "Shall we?"