One good thing about Zanzihar being dead was that he couldn't run away. All Jett had to do was retrace his steps and piece together his last few days, the days where he'd abandoned his voting obligations to take on something evidently more pressing.

The record of his death remained the same—murdered by a felkin gang over unpaid debts, but no other information had crept its way onto the piecemeal news service. She would bet that Bronco and the vulkin guards barely got a glance at that body before the wolfkin enforcers spirited it away, leaving nothing to challenge the official narrative.

In order to do that tracking down, however, she needed some more specialist equipment than her rig currently supported, a level of invasive software that did not come standard and would certainly raise a few eyebrows among the local law enforcement. She just hoped that Fleur could supply what she needed.

Jett stood outside the silver cube of the shop, the crisp undercover attire of her foray into the Silk now replaced with the more comfortable, loose-fitting body wrap and kilt, pack resting against the small of her back. Her footpaw tapped agitatedly against the hard mud street as she mulled over the wisdom of returning here.

While Fleur's business stayed within the bounds of the law, she couldn't really afford the time to hunt out another tech dealer. She couldn't stop looking over her shoulder, acutely aware that this district would only be safe for so long. She needed to push the tempo of this game of cat and mouse. She just had to hope that Fleur could get her what she needed.

Rubbing her eyes with both hands, she let out a weary sigh and shrugged off her misgivings. She walked quickly up to the door before she had a chance to second guess herself and shoved it open.

The racks of computing rigs greeted her from all sides, the door letting out a gentle bong to announce her entry. Glancing around, she didn't see Fleur at the shop counter, but a melodic voice sounded from the backroom.

"Be with you in a second!"

A crash, followed by a curse, echoed through the shopfront before Fleur emerged, one paw smoothing down long the long fringe of her blue hair. Her eyes lit up with happy recognition, shoulders visibly relaxing.

"Jett! Fangs, where have you been?" she exclaimed, crossing the room in three languid strides and embracing her tightly. Then she stepped back, still holding Jett's shoulders at arm's length. "I thought you'd dropped off the world. I saw the newscasts in Palharr..." Her voice trailed off for a moment as she scrambled for the words before eventually shaking her head in confusion. "What happened?!"

"Fleur, it's a very long story," Jett replied apologetically. "And I wish I could tell you everything, but right now, I don't have time. I need your help."

"But the family that got killed...in Palharr district. I saw it on the citywide announcements!" Fleur shook her head disbelievingly. "Is that why you came out here? Are those gangs after you—"

"It wasn't any gang that killed them!" The words came out in a savage snarl, and Jett bared her teeth without even realising. Fleur released her as though scalded, stepping sharply backwards.

"Jett...what are you talking about?"

"I'm out here because wolfkin enforcers murdered my family and are trying to kill me," she spat. "There? Happy?"

"What?!"

"I stepped into something I shouldn't have, and a lot of people died because of it. I don't want you to join them." Jett took a steadying breath, trying to calm herself. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. "Fleur, don't ask me more questions about it, okay? It's better if you don't know. I'm here because I need to track someone down."

Fleur looked like she'd been slapped, her eyes wide as she tried to reel in the information. She blinked; shook her head.

"Jett, I..." She shrugged helplessly. "What is it you need?"

"I need snooper mods—stuff that can get by new Conclave security protocols. I'm looking into a designate."

"That's crazy! You know I don't carry that kind of gear—it's illegal!"

Jett felt her heart sink. "We all skirt the law from time to time, Fleur. Do you really not have anything?"

"I stopped selling that stuff over a year ago," the felkin said sharply. "Local guard packs turned my place upside down, Jett; said I needed to offload that gear, or they would shut me down for good. I didn't have a choice. But even if I was still selling, I never had that kind of equipment—not to hack the Conclave. That's insane!"

"It's been an insane kind of week," Jett countered. "So there's nothing you can do?"

"Not here." Fleur's shoulders sagged in defeat. "I can't give you the gear, but I can send you to someone who sells it. That's all I can do."

"It's more than anyone else has done," Jett said quickly, nodding as her glimmer of hope was reignited. "Who is it?"

Fleur didn't reply. Instead, she turned and darted behind the counter, ducking out of sight for a moment. She re-emerged with a thin sheet of barkpaper and a stick of charcoal. Her paw moved with elegant flickering motions as she wrote. When she finished, she looked up, beckoning Jett over and holding out the paper.

"Go to this address," she said timidly. "And tell them I sent you. There's someone out there who deals in black market tech. It'll be expensive, but I don't know anyone else who can supply the kind of gear you're talking about."

Jett accepted the paper, scanning it quickly before meeting Fleur's golden stare once more.

"Thank you."

Fleur shook her head. "Thank me when you come back in one piece."

***

The very air of the Iolk District made Jett's nostrils sting, her tail curling with discomfort as she breathed in the chemical smog that shrouded the place in permanent half-light. Factories dominated the district skyline, sizzling venomously as their massive cooling stacks belched half-scrubbed fumes out into the air. Rattling air filtration units scattered throughout the district tried to disperse the fog, but all they achieved was keeping the air clean enough not to suffocate the population.

On the opposite end of Wildhearth from her home, Jett had never stepped a paw in this place, and she hoped never to do so again. She felt unclean, the constant taste of the tainted air making her clear her throat and scrub her tongue against the back of her teeth. The buildings clumped together around her, stained in unhealthy greys, greens, and blacks as the compounds rubbed off on the walls.

She kept her shoulders square, taking shallow breaths and walking quickly from the bustling tram carrier station. Not a lot of people visited this place, but huge freight trams filled the platforms, hauling raw materials through the city, some to be used here and others to be shipped out to Wildhearth's sister cities. The kin she did see was a motley collection of scuff-furred vulkin, bearkin and beaverkin, some of them breathing through filter muzzles and most rumbling along with large, clanking bags of tools.

Jett wove between them, glancing down at the sliver of barkpaper that she'd scribbled down directions on. The establishment she'd been directed to was thankfully not too far from the station. She trudged along a filthy thoroughfare for a little while before taking a left down into the underground tangled warren that existed beneath the main streets.

Narrow ramps of uneven mud track and ceramics wound down into narrow coils between buildings. She tried to shrink herself even more, shoulders squeezing in tight as she slipped past chattering kin from the district who seemed unperturbed by their oppressive surroundings. You got used to it, she supposed, if you weren't offered anything better.

Shops began to infest the walls around her as she delved deeper, the lanes swooping beneath the cavernous arches of the upper thoroughfare. Strange musks and the scent of strong alcohol stung her nostrils, mingling with the smell of fatty meats cooking, a constant sizzle in the air. After another glance down at the directions, Jett ducked into a narrow warren of a street running perpendicular to the current path.

Neon lights swallowed her up, and she winced at the sudden brightness, fighting down the urge to throw up as she canned the shopfronts. Vendors lolled out of open windows, selling weapons, clothes, computers, booze, food, and occasionally all the above. She tunnelled into the bustle of citykin, glancing left and right until she spotted the tech den Fleur had marked out of her.

K's MODS.

The letters of the straightforward sign blazed crimson, bolted above a door tucked down into a broad ditch below street level. The door itself was a solid slab of black metal, and no windows gave her an inkling of what might have been inside. She swallowed; spat. Then she padded down the steps into the side ditch, thrusting all her misgivings to the back of her mind and trusting that Fleur would not have sent her here without good reason.

It took Jett's whole body weight to shove the armoured door open, its hinges screeching in protest until she eventually wrestled it shut again and turned to take stock of the shop.

Her eyes widened in amazement.

The low-ceilinged den was barely ten feet across, but every spare space was crammed with technology that made her forget the bad taste in her mouth. Shelves lit by blue backlights filled the walls, displaying an array of high-grade mods with terse labels beneath them. Snoopers, logic boards, processing stacks, block drives, shunt cables, hunter-code inloads, and more beckoned her from all sides. Even at a glance, she could see that many of the arrayed pieces of tech bore special modifications, skirting and deviating from legal construction patterns with reckless abandon. A lot of them looked like they'd been manually modified before being set on the shelves.

She'd never seen a collection like it.

"Something you've got your heart set on?" said a calm, hoarse voice. Jett's gaze snapped to the sound. She spotted the speaker lounging in the gloom of the tepid white-blue light of the tech den.

He was a wolfkin.

Stay cool.

Her nerves were assuaged somewhat by the fact this individual bore little resemblance to the brutes that had chased her through the city not so long ago, other than the general structure of his body. Where they'd been slabs of armoured muscle, this wolfkin was slimmer, clad in a baggy granite-coloured jacket and a dark kilt of red and charcoal. His coat lacked the sinister, shadowy darkness, made up of a blend of white and grey that shone glossily in the light of the shop, surmounted by a ridge of ink-black headfur.

Jett cleared her throat in preparation to speak, but the act of doing so made her cough and wretch as her lungs protested at the unfamiliar, unclean air.

"Not a local, I take it," the wolfkin rumbled with a smirk, but she saw the glint of a blade as he eased his jacket open. "Not a lot of people from outside Iolk just walk into my place. Who sent you?"

"Fleur—felkin from Carlikane District," Jett rasped out. "She runs a tech shop out there."

"Mmm, I know her." He nodded absently. "Used to be a good customer until she went straight. Can't buy loyalty these days, eh?"

"I guess not."

"And if she sent you, you must be looking for something that could get you carted to a lawhouse if you were caught with it?"

She saw no point in lying. "That's about the size of it."

"Then I'd say you're in the right place." He stood up, and she realised he was smaller than most of the wolfkin she'd encountered, still standing half a head taller than her but lacking the imposing bulk of his fellow kin. The vicious scar that trailed from the left side of his muzzle up and back to below his ear made it clear he was no less acquainted with violence.

"Name's Karno," he said as he crossed the room to stand in front of her. "You?"

"I didn't come here to make friends. I just need some parts."

He shrugged and nodded to the shelves. "Buyer's privilege. So, what exactly can I get for you today?"

"I'm trying to track down a friend." She turned from the wolfkin, eyes wandering the array of tech once again.

"Ah." He cocked his head to one side. "Does this friend want to be found?"

"Not exactly."

"So you need some snooper mods?"

"Something top of the line if you think you can spare it. Got anything that can sniff out transactions and link to purchase locations—that kind of thing?"

"That's not the kind of gear I leave lying on the shelves where anyone can see it," he said. "And it's not the kind of gear just anyone knows what to do with. I'm not selling to amateurs."

"I owned a tech workshop in Palharr," Jett snapped, her pride pricked by the wolfkin's dismissive manner. "There's no system and no rig I can't fix, hack, or destroy." One paw shot out, pointing at the pieces of tech on the nearest shelf. "That is a reinforced cooling stack you pulled from a Calibre-Thundera processing rig with a modified fan exchanger. That's a Panthol Hunter-Code upload patch. There are two Sysan logic boards, one of which has a break in the soldering, so I hope you're not going to try and pawn them off on me. I could go on and name every piece of junk you're selling in this scrub-hole, but I have better things to do, and I think you do too."

Karno grinned a lopsided grin. "My kinda girl."

"Keep your claws to yourself," she hissed, hackles rising. "You're not the only one with a blade."

"Alright, alright," he chuckled, raising his paws in an apology. "Come on. You know your way around a rig, so I'll make an exception."

"I feel all special."

Karno shook his head in amusement, beckoning her to follow. "I've got some high-end stash in the back, as long as you're good for the stamps."

"Won't be a problem." Jett crossed the room and followed him through a small doorway into the adjoining room. Karno flicked a switch, and in an instant, light spilled over them, illuminating several ranks of coal-black shelving units crammed with equipment.

A surge of nostalgia swept over her as she let her gaze wander over the staggering array of technological treasures that stared down at her. It reminded her achingly of her old workshop but scaled up to a mind-boggling degree with things she'd never seen before. Karno strode off into the midst of it with comfortable ease, but she paused in the doorway for just a moment.

"Y'alright?" he asked when he noticed her lingering.

"Yeah, I just..." She swept a stray strand of headfur aside and cleared her throat. "It just reminds me of a place I used to go to a lot."

"You've got good taste." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "This way." Then he disappeared behind a stack of equipment. Jett set off after him, gently letting her claws run over the gear on the shelf until she reached the end and turned.

She discovered Karno settled at a small desk against the wall, with several much smaller shelves bolted above it. The equipment there was of a considerably more specialist order than the rest of the stock in the back room, and he already had three of the modules laid out in front of him, examining them with a critical eye.

"Well, I'm guessing you're needing a heavy-duty snooper," he said, not looking up from the claw-like module he was examining. "This is a Noqulin Pattern Hunter mod. Pretty standard stuff for your kinda work."

"Noqulins don't spoof the scent well enough for new countermods. Any halfway decent trace software will lead right back to me."

"Okay, okay." He flapped a paw at her, returning the module to the rack and selecting another. "Hex-Hammer 116A—nobody's tracing you with this."

Jett snorted. "The thing eats processing power like quillkin eat nuts. I don't have a damned power plant back home, you know." To her surprise, Karno started laughing.

"Damn," he chuckled. "Where've you been hiding all my life?"

"I'm going to be out of your life in about ten seconds if this is the best you've got," she shot back, her patience fraying fast.

"Uncurl your tail for five seconds, would you?" He gave her a withering look, then grabbed a much bulkier module from the shelf. "Then maybe this little monster will do the job."

"What's the model?"

A devious glint shone in the wolfkin's eye. "This is one of mine—custom job. Built it from scratch. Nobody's tracing back on this baby. She's rigged with a multi-spoof array to bounce your scent all over the city and a hydro-battery internal processing unit, totally self-contained. It won't tax anything from your main rig itself."

"Now we're getting somewhere," Jett affirmed. "Run me through the specs."

She listened patiently as Karno reeled off an ever-increasing list of parts that had been funnelled into creating this particular mod. Some of the more specialist parts he'd literally built himself, but he went into excruciating detail even then, enthusiasm shining on his face as she spoke. By the time he'd finished, he almost looked out of breath.

"You think that will meet your requirements?" He gave her a mischievous look. "Any particular designate you're trying to track down? You trying to scupper someone's re-election campaign or something?"

Jett looked at him askance. "How in the Fire did you—"

"No legal manufacturer is allowed to sell something that could beat the Conclave security software they provide to designate accounts." He shrugged. "Process of elimination. If this is the only mod you want, there aren't that many people you can be looking for."

"You know an awful lot about Conclave security."

"Well, we all have our little areas of expertise, don't we? So, who's got under your skin so bad you need to start trawling the city for them? Got some debts to collect? Wouldn't surprise me."

"That's not your concern."

Karno shrugged. "Hey, as far as I'm concerned, I hope you get whatever you're gunning for. That place is a glorified snake pit filled with a bunch of spineless mongrels, power-drunk dictators, and liars." He smirked and held up the mod. "So, you want it or not?"

She nodded, unable to keep a smile off her face. "I'll take it. Name the price."

"Five thousand."

Jett's smile faded. "For a mod?"

"Do you know how much trouble I could get in for selling this?" Karno growled. "If somebody catches you with this and traces it back to me, I'll have enforcers kicking down my door before you can yowl for your mother. The price is the price, take it or leave it."

"Okay, I get it." Jett suppressed her annoyance, knowing she had no choice, and fished into her backpack to retrieve the barkstamps. She stepped over to Karno and deposited them in his free paw. He placed the snooper-module reverently into hers.

Jett dropped the device into her pack, nestling it in the padded bottom corner before tightening the strings to close it up. Sweeping it over her shoulder, she looked him in the eye, her claws clenching tight around the straps of her pack.

"Thanks," she said quickly, a surge of self-consciousness washing over her, and she spun away from the wolfkin, heading for the door.

"Never did get your name," he called after her.

Pausing in the doorway to the back room, she sighed, glancing back over her shoulder at the wolfkin.

"My name's Jett," she said eventually. "I'll see you around, Karno."