Chapter Text
“I’m sorry, Nick, I truly am,” the elderly vixen said, the words dissolving into a harsh coughing fit. She pressed her paw against the speaker, muffling the sound for Nick's hearing sake. “I just don’t want him to catch anything,” she managed at last, her voice thin and breathless.
“No, Aunt Ella, I mean—” Nick started, then stopped, helpless, as the coughing overtook her again. He waited, jaw tight. “—how could I ever blame you?”
“As soon as I get better, I promise I’ll help,” Ella said, and the promise twisted something unpleasant in Nick’s chest. He knew her too well. 'As soon as I get better' usually meant 'long before I should'. She had always been like that—generous to a fault, stubbornly kind, even when her own body begged her to rest.
“It’s okay, Aunt Ella,” Nick said gently. “I’ll figure something out. I always do.”
The words sounded confident, practiced—even reassuring. But inside, he was completely adrift. Today wasn’t optional. He had an interrogation that couldn’t be postponed, one that might crack the entire case wide open. And of course, fate had chosen Saturday of all days. The kindergarten was closed, his last backup gone.
With his aunt sick and no one left to call, Nick stood there with a sinking realization: he had absolutely no idea what to do with his little brother Max.
Ending the call with his aunt, Nick immediately started Zoogling nanny agencies nearby. The very idea made his stomach twist. Leaving Max with a complete stranger felt wrong on every possible level—but desperation didn’t leave much room for principles.
What did surprise him—although it shouldn't have—was that every single agency opened at nine. In two more hours he absolutely did not have.
He paced the flat like a caged animal, retracing the same steps over and over as his thoughts spiraled faster by the second.
Neighbours.
He’d lived here for almost a year. Long enough to recognize muzzles, exchange polite greetings, borrow the occasional tool. None of them resembled the image of an ideal nanny, not even remotely—but right now, ideal was a luxury he couldn’t afford.
Swallowing his pride, Nick reminded himself that most of them already knew the tragic story of the two orphaned brothers. If not from him, then from the newspapers or whispers in stairwells.
Already in his uniform, Nick quietly left the flat. He ran through the list of neighbors in his head, starting with those who seemed kind and kid-friendly, and ending with the ones who were a definite no.
The first who he decided to ask was a family of badgers, the mother always smiling to him when passing by although her face was a picture of pure exhaustion with her three little sons who weren't absolute angels to start with. But Nick believed that no one could understand him better than a mother herself. For the past year, he had been playing the role of both brother and parent—without much room to be anything else.
Nick felt awful knocking on their door so early on a Saturday morning. Still, judging by the sounds of pure chaos leaking through the walls—thuds, shouts, and something that might have been furniture tipping over—he knew they were very much awake.
The guilt only deepened when the door opened. The badger mother stood there, her muzzle etched with the unmistakable expression of someone surviving on too little sleep and an alarming amount of coffee. Nick swallowed. How could he possibly give her one more reason to lose her sanity?
“Well, hello there…” he started, his voice wavering as his confidence evaporated on the spot. “I—I don’t really know how to say this. I need to go to work, and my aunt, who usually watches my brother, got sick. And I… I don’t have anyone else to ask.”
She understood immediately. He could see it in her eyes. But the apologetic smile that followed came just as fast.
“Oh, Nick… if it were any other day, I wouldn’t hesitate,” she said softly. “But today we’re visiting my parents. I’ve been counting down to this for weeks—for someone else to take care of them for a change.” She let out a tired laugh and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “You know. Sitting down long enough to drink coffee while it’s still hot. Reading a book. Using the bathroom without three pairs of paws crashing through the door... I’m really sorry,” she finished, genuinely.
Nick nodded, understanding all too well. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d rested either—not to mention reading a book—and explaining bathroom boundaries felt like a skill he’d been forced to master far too early in life.
“Maybe you could try the new neighbor down the hall?” she suggested. “The one with the strange accent? She looks like she could be a nice granny.”
“Yeah,” Nick nodded again. “I’ll try. Thank you. Enjoy your day! And I’m keeping my fingers crossed for you not having to pee in speed-run mode, at least once,” he chuckled before waving her goodbye.
Now to the new neighbor.
He didn’t know her well, but really—if someone ever needed a model for a perfect granny, that sheep would be it. Determined, Nick hurried to her door, took a deep breath, and knocked.
A loud radio blared from inside. He waited. Knocked again. Still nothing. Frowning, he finally pressed the doorbell.
That worked. And, judging by the echoing noise, possibly woke up half the building as well—the doorbell sounded more like a fire alarm than anything else.
Moments later, the door flew open. The sheep beamed at him—and then vanished before he could say a single word. She returned almost immediately, thrusting a crumpled ten-dollar bill toward his muzzle.
“I love those calendars of yours!” she announced enthusiastically, her accent thick and unmistakably foreign, “I buy one every year!”
Nick stared, stunned, until the realization finally caught up with him. He shook his head and waved his paws.
“Oh—no, no, I’m not selling anything. I’m actually your neighbor, and I was hoping to—”
“No?” she interrupted loudly. “More expensive now?” She squinted at him. “Last year it was ten bucks already too much, but since it’s for charity, I accepted my fate!”
That’s when Nick understood. His voice never quite reached her, since had surely trouble hearing.
“Fine, show me!” she declared, already convinced. “If it’s good, I’ll pay more. But only if there are sheep in it! And at least one nice landscape!”
Nick’s arms fell to his sides. He was out of ideas—completely defeated by the simple fact that nothing he said ever truly mattered.
The sheep studied him for a few seconds longer, waiting. Then her patience snapped.
“Why do you come here selling calendars if you don’t even have one?” she demanded. “Is this some kind of joke? Or are you trying to cheat me?” She shook her head sharply. “I trust the police less and less these days. Living off my taxes, all of you!”
Whatever warmth she’d had moments ago vanished. With a curt, dismissive flick of her paw, she slammed the door shut.
That was that.
Nick stood there for a heartbeat, staring at the closed door, before exhaling slowly. The sheep neighbor was officially off the list.
One more neighbour surfaced in his mind. A young vixen living alone one floor down. She was... unusual. She always grinned at him when they crossed paths, giggling without clear reason, her paws nervously combing through the fur on her head, her hips swaying with an exaggerated rhythm. Plus she batted her eyes at him so often. Nick wasn’t entirely sure why—there wasn’t much pollens in the hallway after all.
Still. She was young. And if she had ever imagined herself as a mother, even in passing, this might be her chance to find out what that really meant.
Nick hurried down one floor and stopped in front of the vixen’s door. It was early—too early for polite visits—but desperation overruled manners. Maybe she was one of those mammals with a strict morning routine. Yoga. Smoothies. Sunrise stretches.
He knocked.
The door opened a moment later, revealing the vixen wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe. When she recognized him, her eyes went wide, and her paw immediately darted up to smooth her fur—again, and again, as if it had suddenly become unruly.
“Oh—hello,” she said, smiling broadly. “What an amazing sight to wake up to,” she added, her voice dipping into a register that sounded practiced.
“Hi, sorry to bother you so early,” Nick rushed out, already halfway into the explanation in his head.
“You never bother, Nick,” she replied, fluttering her lashes at him.
Nick blinked.
“So,” he continued, undeterred, “do you happen to have any plans today?”
Her eyes widened further as she shifted her stance, the bathrobe parting just enough to reveal a laced sleeping gown beneath—clearly by accident.
“None at all,” she purred, smiling smugly. “Why?”
Nick’s face lit up.
“Great! I need to go to work, and I don’t have anyone to leave my little brother with,” he explained quickly. “I was hoping you might be able to watch him for a bit.”
Her smile lingered for half a second too long.
“Oh,” she said softly. “Your… brother.”
She cleared her throat and tugged the bathrobe tighter, suddenly very busy with it. “Oh, Nick, I’ve just realized I need to—”
She paused, eyes flicking slightly to the side as if scrolling through possibilities. “I have to visit my grandma,” she announced. “Yes. That’s it. I just remembered. You mentioning family must have jogged my memory.”
She nodded, satisfied with the excuse. “I need to help her with… things.”
Then her expression shifted again, the smile returning—slower, deliberate.
“But in the evening,” she added, lowering her voice, “when brothers and grandmas are fast asleep…” She tilted her head at him. “I’ll have plenty of free time.”
Nick raised his eyebrows at the suggestion.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, already heading back toward his apartment. He knew better than to discuss about it. “Thanks anyway. Bye!”
The vixen waved, leaning against the doorframe, watching him with a long, lingering look until he vanished up the stairs.
Back upstairs, Nick decided to check on Max—and just in time. The little fox was already awake, pacing the flat with a deeply offended expression.
“Nick!” he shouted. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
“I’m sorry,” Nick said quickly, crouching down and ruffling his fur. Max’s eyes were still half-closed, his anger clearly running on leftover sleep. “I was talking to a neighbor. Aunt Ella can’t come today, so I was trying to figure something out.”
“Why not?” Max crossed his arms. “She promised me pancakes.”
Nick winced.
“I know. I’m sorry, buddy. She got sick.”
Max froze. His ears drooped, his eyes suddenly going wide.
“Is she going to die?”
Nick nearly fell over.
“What? No! No, no,” he said quickly, touching his arm reassuringly. “It’s just a cold. She’ll be fine.”
“I don’t want her to die,” Max said quietly, staring at the floor. “I don’t want anyone to die anymore.”
Something sharp twisted in Nick’s chest. No child that small should carry thoughts that heavy.
“No one is dying,” Nick said gently, smiling because it was the only thing he could offer. “And I’ll make you pancakes when I get back from work.”
Max narrowed his eyes.
“I don’t want the burned ones,” he said firmly.
Nick gasped theatrically, clutching his chest as if mortally wounded. He considered protesting—but the memory of smoke pouring out of the kitchen the last time he made pancakes stopped him. Maybe cooking just wasn’t his destiny.
“Okay,” Nick sighed. “Then I’ll buy some.”
“I don’t want bought ones,” Max shook his head stubbornly. “We always eat bought stuff. I want Aunt Ella’s pancakes.”
The fox glanced at his watch. Time was slipping through his fingers. Another round of neighbor visits was out of the question.
He briefly considered calling Finnick—then immediately imagined the kind of stories the big guy might tell a six-year-old and dismissed the idea.
With a quiet sigh, Nick accepted the inevitable.
Looks like Max was coming with him to the precinct.
“Listen, pal,” Nick said, straightening up. “How would you feel about Maxwell Wilde joining Nicholas Wilde on the force today?” He added a wink, just to sell it. “I could really use some backup.”
Max’s eyes exploded with light, like Nick had just offered him a secret pass into a world usually reserved for legends.
“R-really?” the little tod breathed. “I could?”
“Absolutely,” Nick smiled. Because honestly—what other option did he have? “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”
Max disappeared so fast Nick briefly wondered if teleportation had been unlocked at age six. The sound of frantic rummaging followed immediately.
While chaos unfolded in the bedroom, Nick made sandwiches for both of them. Simple ones. Ones that didn’t involve smoke alarms.
Moments later, Max marched into the living room. His clothes didn’t match in the slightest, but the oversized police hat perched on his head made it clear he meant business.
“Teeth?” Nick asked, zipping his backpack shut.
“I brushed yesterday,” Max said proudly, waving the concern away.
Nick checked the time.
“Good enough,” he muttered.
Grabbing the little fox’s paw, Nick hurried them out of the building, determined to catch the earliest metro train possible. As they walked toward the station, he figured now was the time to establish some rules—preferably before Max turned the precinct upside down.
“Listen, buddy,” he said. “After you help me staple documents and clean handcuffs, I’ll need to step into an interrogation room for a bit. And unfortunately, I won’t be able to take you with me.”
Max slowed down and shot him a deeply suspicious look.
“And why?”
“Because…” Nick hesitated. Because I’ll be interrogating a serial killer wasn’t exactly age-appropriate. “Because if they see such a strict future officer like you, they’ll get so scared they’ll stop talking altogether.” He nodded solemnly. “Fear never helps investigations.”
Max considered this for a moment, and then patted Nick’s arm with unexpected gravity.
“I understand,” he said. “I’d be scared of myself too.” He lifted his paws, forming imaginary guns, squinting one eye shut as he aimed at some invisible target down the street. “Bang! Bang!” Then, lowering his paws, he added in a gravelly voice he absolutely did not invent himself, “Copy that. I won’t mess it up for you, Wilde.”
Nick stared at him for a moment.
Maybe—just maybe—it was time to start filtering their movie nights.
Max’s vocabulary was evolving at an alarming rate.
The older fox went on, lowering his voice slightly.
“And I’d like you to, uh…” Nick paused, choosing his words carefully before switching to what he hoped was official-sounding language. “You know... Lie low. Eyes open. Mouth shut. Watch your steps. Like real police officers do.”
Nick straightened a little, as if that alone might reinforce the authority. He sincerely hoped that all that gibberish would be enough to keep Max out of trouble.
The little fox nodded, the oversized police hat slipping down over his eyes in the process.
“Roger that,” Max said in a hushed, serious voice. “I’ll be like a shadow.”
“That’s my boy!” Nick grinned, genuinely relieved. “Honestly, you’d make a great police officer one day.”
“I know, right?” Max replied, straightening the hat with purpose. His steps instantly gained a spring, as if the badge was already pinned to his chest.
As soon as they settled into the train, Max pulled out a notebook and began sketching composite portraits of every mammal in the wagon—just in case.
Nick watched him absently and, for the first time that morning, allowed his shoulders to relax. The chaos of the morning was behind them. Now there was only what waited ahead—the interrogation.
One almost feral mammal sat in a holding room at the precinct—this would be their third session already, and only now had the suspect begun to crack.
Nick hoped this would be the one. That today, the murderer would finally reveal where they had buried their victims. Too many mammals were still missing. Too many families were trapped in a terrible limbo, unable to mourn because hope—however thin—still clung to them.
The killer had already confessed. A life sentence awaited him regardless. And yet, the locations of the bodies remained unknown, despite exhaustive searches.
Nick knew how much rested on this interrogation. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake. If he failed, the truth might stay buried forever.
“Nick!” Max hissed urgently. “I forgot to pee at home!”
Hadn’t someone said the chaos was over?
“And what exactly do you expect me to do about that?” Nick asked, honestly curious.
“I don't know, but I see yellow,” Max announced with alarming certainty.
Nick grimaced. Four more stations. Four.
“Okay,” he said carefully. “From one to ten. How bad?”
“Eleven...” the little todd whispered.
“Why didn’t you tell me when it was at seven?” Nick hissed, already calculating whether a bathroom break now would make him late for work.
“I was busy drawing,” Max replied, immediately switching to tiptoeing like that might somehow help.
“No way!”
The interruption came from their side. A gray bunny girl was peering over Max’s shoulder, eyes fixed on the notebook.
“Is that supposed to be me?” she asked, pointing at a drawing with ears so long they defied biology. “I know my ears are long, but wow.”
Nick and Max looked at each other with consternation, then back at her—just as she noticed the way the little todd depicted her feet.
“And these?” she laughed. “Seriously, do I look like a yeti?”
She giggled, clearly amused rather than offended. Max blinked a few times, and after a moment of just looking at bunny he started laughing as well.
“Hey,” he said, holding up the notebook proudly, “I’m only six, okay?”
“Six, okay,” the bunny challenged with a grin, “but not blind, I hope?”
That earned another round of giggles from both of them.
“I totally need to get this drawing from you as a souvenir,” the bunny said.
Max agreed immediately, nodding eagerly. "Do you have more?” she asked, sliding into the seat beside the little fox and dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I want to see how you drew that anteater over there.”
Max shuffled through the pages rapidly until he found the right one. Three heads leaned together, eyes darting between the drawing and the very real anteater minding his own business a few rows away.
“See?” the bunny whispered, pointing. “You can draw normal feet if you want to.”
She paused, then added with a grin, “But that snout? It’s longer than my ears, and I didn’t even know that was possible.”
The two dissolved into giggles again.
Nick watched the scene unfold, quietly astonished. Somehow, his brother and a complete stranger had turned a crowded train into an impromptu art critique session—and for the first time in a long time, Nick felt his muzzle curl into a real, unguarded smile.
They were still comparing drawings when Nick noticed the familiar chime signaling their stop.
“That’s us, buddy,” he said, leaning closer to get Max’s attention.
That was the moment when the bunny finally looked up at Nick, smiling brightly. Her eyes were a vivid purple—so rare it caught the fox pretty off guard. He found himself holding her gaze for a heartbeat longer than necessary before realizing it and straightening up as he grabbed the backpack.
Max dragged his feet slightly, clearly reluctant to abandon his new audience.
“See?” the bunny said to the little todd warmly. “You managed to wait it out.”
“Wait out what?” Max asked, blinking in genuine confusion.
This time, it was Nick and the bunny who laughed together.
“Thanks,” Nick said quietly, lifting Max and guiding him toward the doors.
The bunny didn’t say anything—she just let her smile linger and waved as the doors slid shut.
Once on the platform, Nick turned back instinctively, hoping to see her one last time. He really was grateful for the way she’d stepped in when things had been spiraling. But the train was already moving, carrying her away with it.
Nick squeezed Max’s paw and headed toward Precinct One.
“I forgot to give her the drawing!” the little todd suddenly exclaimed, frantically flipping through his notebook.
Nick peeked over his shoulder.
There she was—immortalized in a pencil sketch. Her feet were massive, somehow squeezed into tight jeans she wore. Her checked shirt was carefully included, though its proportions were rather debatable. And her ears—her ears stretched across the page like runaway ribbons, looping into every bit of empty space Max could find, curling wherever they had to just to exist.
Nick snorted quietly before he could stop himself, which immediately earned him a deeply offended look.
“Hey,” Nick said quickly, “I think a great officer like you will easily find her one day to give it to her.” He nodded toward the notebook. “You’ve got her portrait, after all.”
Max nodded solemnly.
“That will be my first case,” he said firmly, already convinced.
Nick could only roll his eyes, amused by his brother’s absolute certainty that he would one day track down a random stranger armed with nothing but a drawing.
Relieved to have arrived on time—and grateful that he hadn’t earned Bogo any additional reasons to frown—Nick walked into the building with a list of excuses already prepared to explain his brother’s presence to the chief.
They barely made it three steps past the entrance when a familiar voice squeaked with delight.
“Oh my goodness! Nick, is that a rookie?”
Clawhauser leaned enthusiastically over the reception desk, beaming down at Max. “Well, hello there, Maxwell!”
Max straightened immediately and tipped his oversized hat with careful precision, remembering to act professional—exactly as his brother had told him to.
“Morning, officer,” Max replied seriously, which only made the cheetah melt even more.
“Max is here with me today because our aunt is sick,” Nick added quickly, hoping to steer the narrative.
Max tilted his head and looked up at him.
“I thought it was because you needed help with things you’re not very good at,” he said honestly.
Nick froze for half a second, then crouched and whispered with theatrical urgency,
“Don’t say out loud I'm not managing, or they’ll kick me off the force.”
Max nodded so hard his hat nearly slipped again. Then he turned back to Clawhauser and waved his paw dismissively.
“Kidding. It’s because of our aunt,” he clarified.
Clawhauser’s grin widened immediately—he’d caught on.
“Oh, wow,” the cheetah sighed theatrically. “So good for you Nick that you have some backup. I have absolutely NO ONE to help me organize all this evidence I’ve collected…”
With exaggerated effort, he dragged a large box out from under the counter, its contents rattling ominously.
Max’s eyes sparkled.
“Evidence?”
Clawhauser nodded, lowering his voice.
“They’ve seen things. A lot of things.”
Max slowly turned toward Nick, eyes shining with hope.
Nick met his gaze—and gave a small, approving nod, on the strict condition that Max used the bathroom, washed his paws, and finished his sandwich first.
That was all the little fox needed. He bolted toward the bathroom, already mentally elbow-deep in whatever mysteries the box of evidence might hold.
“Thanks, Spots,” Nick said quietly. The smile he’d been wearing slipped away the moment Max vanished down the hall. “I didn’t have any other choice. I tried the neighbors and—”
“Hey,” Benjamin interrupted softly. “It’s okay, Nick. I’ve got him. I’ll keep him busy.”
Nick exhaled, some tension finally loosening from his shoulders. He gave Clawhauser a grateful look and excused himself for morning briefing.
Shortly after officers set the plan for the day, Nick forced himself down the corridor toward the interrogation rooms. The culprit was already inside, waiting.
The stakes were enormous—heavy enough to send a cold chill crawling down his spine. Somewhere out there, answers lay buried. Literally.
Nick stopped in front of the door and took one last deep breath to steady himself. He clenched his jaw, smoothed his expression, and pushed the door open, wearing calm like armor.
“Hello, Dawn,” he said lightly. “Ready for our date?”
The sheep looked up, smiling in a way that never reached her eyes. She lifted her cuffed hooves, chains clinking softly.
“Hello, Nicholas,” she purred. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“You say that to all your interrogators?” Nick replied lightly, taking a seat within sight but not within reach.
Dawn only smiled, remaining silent to that question.
“You comfortable?” he asked after a beat, as if this were a café and not a room designed to strip mammals bare.
“Mostly,” she said. “These chairs aren’t great. Luckily, I’ve got a fluffy butt.”
She watched him closely as Nick smiled back—just enough to pass for polite.
He knew the rules. Keep it light. Keep it slow. Let her talk. Psychopaths loved conversation—the rhythm of it, the illusion of control. And for now, he was happy to let her believe she had it.
“Are you ready to talk about locations?” Nick asked.
“Oh, absolutely,” Dawn replied. “I’ll go first. I don’t fancy my current location. Outback Island, for example—that would suit me far better.”
Nick didn’t blink.
“Unfortunately, Dawn, I don’t get to make those decisions. You’re here for a reason." He answered calmly. "Well, now my turn. I want to know where you kept the bodies.”
The sheep tilted her head, smiling as if he’d asked something mildly impolite.
“Still chasing geography, hm?” she said lightly. “I thought we were past that.”
She leaned back as far as the cuffs allowed.
“I don't get you, Nicholas. You already have the ending. Life sentence. Prison. Bad sheep locked away forever.” She ticked the points off on her hoof. "Why are you so desperate to fill in the middle?”
“See, Dawn,” Nick said quietly. “This isn’t really about the case anymore.”
He hesitated—just enough to make it feel unplanned. “It’s about the part where you’re different.” He looked up at her, almost curious. “It’s intriguing.”
He framed it like admiration, and he knew she heard it that way.
Dawn tilted her head, studying him. Her smile slowly shifted into something Nick couldn't really name.
“Most of them never understand that,” she said.
“They don’t,” Nick agreed easily. “They think it’s impulse. Rage. Sloppiness.” He shook his head. “But you treated it like a design problem.”
She leaned forward a fraction, the chains clinking softly.
“So you did notice,” she said, pleased.
Nick leaned back, letting her control the silence from now.
///
If Benjamin had hoped to get anything organized, he had definitely picked the wrong address. The so-called “evidence”—a glorified collection of lost-and-found items the cheetah had been quietly gathering over time—was spread out around his enormous legs. He shifted his weight carefully, mindful not to crush anything. Including Max.
The little fox, however, was thriving.
He sorted the items with absolute authority, arranging them by suspiciousness: from objects that were, in his expert opinion, definitely murder weapons to those that were merely waiting to become dangerous.
Wearing gloves far too big for his paws, Max worked with intense concentration, sealing items into bags and slapping on sticky-note labels with great importance.
“Hey, Ben,” Max said seriously. “What would you do if you wanted to find someone?”
Benjamin’s ears twitched. He leaned down at once.
“Oh my goodness—did someone get lost?” he asked.
“No, not really,” Max paused to think. “They just… left without taking something.”
Calmer now, the cheetah tapped his chin, genuinely considering the question.
“I think I’d go back to where I last saw them,” he said slowly. “Mammals tend to circle familiar places.”
“Mhm,” Max hummed, filing the advice away like a rule of the universe.
At that moment, Nick jogged up to the desk, still riding the aftershock of adrenaline. He ruffled Max’s fur without slowing, then turned to Benjamin.
“She spilled,” he said, almost incredulous. “Everything. We need to verify it, but—” he let out a breathy laugh, half relief, half disbelief. “At least we finally have a starting point.”
He rubbed his muzzle. “I forgot how draining that gets. She was… disturbingly calm.”
“I knew you’d be the one to get through to her,” Benjamin said warmly. “Seriously. Well done.”
Then he pointed down with a grin. “Looks like your rookie’s getting serious about evidence. Maybe we’ll close a few cold cases too, huh, Max?”
Silence was the only thing that greeted them.
They looked down.
Max, who had been there only moments earlier, was now unquestionably gone.