Page 55 of Bear and Order

"Check again."

He nods and disappears once more. More waiting, more silence. When he returns again, still empty-handed, something in his posture has shifted — unsettled, almost offended.

"No," he says carefully. "I checked."

"Check again." I protest.

He stiffens slightly. "I'm very good at my job." I don't doubt that, not for a second. That's what worries me. The owl shifter turns and marches back into the archive, and this time I follow him in.

Rows of records fill the room, thousands of documents, thousands of files. He moves directly toward one section — no hesitation, no uncertainty. He knows exactly where the record should be. He reaches for the shelf. Then stops. His fingers hover in the air and his eyes narrow slowly, the silence around us growing dense.

Finally he turns toward me. "It was here," he says, and the certainty in his voice removes any remaining doubt. "It was right here."

I notice the empty aspect on the shelf — the missing gap, the place where the file should be. My jaw tightens.

Marissa.

She was here. She walked out of the Tax Records Office and now the file is gone. No witness, no proof, no evidence. Just another disappearing document. The clerk shakes his head beside me, genuinely disturbed. "I don't understand."

I do. At least enough. Somebody is cleaning up again, and they're getting desperate.

Director Vance doesn't look pleased when I enter his office. Neither does Councilor Anslem. Winn looks positively irritated, so — a normal meeting.

"Inspector," Vance says.

I sit. Nobody offers coffee, which is already a troubling sign. Winn folds his arms immediately. "We gave you instructions."

"You did," I agree.

"And yet you're still pursuing this matter."

Winn's jaw tightens. Anslem slides a file across the desk without a word. "The evidence remains incomplete," he says flatly.

"It won't remain incomplete."

"You're making assumptions," Winn cuts in, his voice clipped.

"No," I respond. "I'm following evidence." Vance watches me carefully, studying me the way a man does when he's deciding how much trouble something is worth.

"The Council believes you've become personally involved," he says, and the accusation hangs in the air between us. I don't answer immediately, because they aren't entirely wrong — but that doesn't make them right either.

"A criminal operation is actively destroying businesses," I say finally. "Witnesses are withdrawing, records are disappearing, evidence is being destroyed, and somebody is trying very hard to stop this investigation."

Silence follows. Then Anslem leans forward. "Stop." The word lands like something final. I stare at him and he holds my gaze without flinching. "Let it go."

"No." No hesitation, no uncertainty — just that.

Winn's expression darkens. "You are being ordered to stand down."

I rise from my chair, and the movement surprises all three of them. Good. Because I am thoroughly tired of having this conversation. "If you want me off the case," I say evenly, "take my badge." Nobody speaks. The silence stretches long enough to be its own answer. "Otherwise, let me do my job."

Vance watches me — carefully, thoughtfully — as the room goes quiet, then quieter. I turn and leave. Nobody stops me.

The bakery looks worse than I have ever seen it. The parking spaces sit empty, the display windows draw no attention, and the sign hangs exactly where it always has, yet somehow everything feels different. I push through the front door and the bell rings overhead.

Juniper stands behind the counter, staring at a document in her hands. Motionless. Silent. Then she looks up, and my stomach drops.

I have seen her angry. Frustrated. Terrified. Determined. I have never seen this — defeat, sitting on her face like something she has stopped fighting. The sight hits harder than anything that happened at headquarters. Slowly, she lowers the paper.