Chapter 013 Investigation
Three days into living with Thokk, and I’d discovered something surprising about myself. I thrived on structure.
For years, my life had been a series of packed bags, midnight relocations, and looking over my shoulder at gas stations. Chaos was my baseline, adrenaline my coffee. I had convinced myself that freedom meant having no ties, no patterns, nothing for a predator to track. But watching Thokk navigate his kitchen with the precision of a surgeon, I realized I’d been wrong.
Freedom wasn’t chaos. Freedom was knowing exactly what was going to happen next.
I sat at the kitchen island, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that Thokk had brewed at precisely 6:45 a.m. The morning light poured through the blinds—which were angled to deflect glare from the countertops—and illuminated the green expanse of Thokk’s back as he stood at the stove.
"Toast is almost ready," he said, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated through the granite countertop. "The cycle finishes in ten seconds."
"You have a timer in your head, don't you?"
"I do." He didn't turn around. He reached for the butter dish just as the toaster clicked.
I watched, fascinated, as he performed the ritual. He placed two slices of sourdough on a ceramic plate he’d pulled from a warming drawer. I’d learned yesterday that the drawer was set to exactly 103 degrees—warm enough to keep the food pleasant, not hot enough to continue cooking the eggs.
He took a measuring spoon—a literal metal tablespoon—and scooped a perfect sphere of butter. He placed it in the center of the toast, then used a knife to spread it outward in a spiral. He stopped exactly two millimeters from the crust.
"Two tablespoons," I murmured. "Never touching the edge."
Thokk paused, the knife hovering. He turned his head slightly, a tusk visible over his shoulder. "Does it bother you?"
"No," I said, and I meant it. "It’s... soothing. Like watching a clock work."
He relaxed, shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch. "Chaos in the kitchen leads to chaos in the day. Aunt Morna always said breakfast sets the tactical tone."
He brought the plates over. The eggs were sunny-side up, the yolks perfectly centered, no stray whites ragged at the edges. He set my plate down first, then his, aligning them parallel to the edge of the placemats.
"Thank you," I said.
He sat across from me, filling the space with his sheer size. He was wearing a grey t-shirt today—Wednesday color, I assumed—that strained against his biceps. "Eat. You need the protein."
We ate in a comfortable silence. It was strange how quickly the awkwardness of the previous night had evaporated. Waking up this morning, his hand had still been loosely covering mine under the sheets. There had been a moment of frozen tension when I first opened my eyes, the old panic flaring—someone is touching me—before the scent of sandalwood and rain grounded me. It was just Thokk. Just the safest place in the world.
I sliced into my egg. "So, what’s the plan for today? Blue uniform or green?"
"Wednesday is administrative catch-up," he said seriously. "Grey uniform. I need to file the reports on the hotel flooding and update the vandalism logs. But first, I need to check the perimeter sensors I installed last week."
"Perimeter sensors?"
"Motion detectors. I wasn't satisfied with the blind spots near the garage."
Of course he wasn't. I hid a smile behind my coffee mug. "You really—"
A heavy thud outside cut me off. The ground actually vibrated, rattling the silverware on the table.
Thokk’s head snapped up. His eyes, warm a second ago, went flat and assessing. "Rokk."
"Your brother?"
"He rides heavy." Thokk stood up, wiping his mouth with a napkin and folding it into a perfect square before setting it down. "He shouldn't be here. It’s a work day."
I followed him to the back door, stepping out onto the deck just as a massive beast rounded the corner of the house. I’d seen horses before, and I’d seen the heavy-duty trucks people drove in Texas, but this was something else. The creature—a sorhox, Thokk had called them—had a hide the color of deep forest moss and shoulders like a bulldozer.
Riding atop it was an orc who looked like a slightly rougher, unpolished version of Thokk. Where Thokk was clean lines and pressed cotton, this brother was denim and dust.
"Morning!" the rider called out, sliding off the beast with surprising grace. He held up a wicker basket covered in checkered cloth. "Peace offering from Mina. She made cinnamon spirulina cookies. Said you looked too skinny last time she saw you, Thokk."
Thokk sighed, descending the steps. "I am exactly the weight I am supposed to be. Hello, Rokk."
Rokk grinned, his tusks gleaming, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He looked past Thokk to me. "Morning, Cassidy. Hope the big guy isn't boring you to death with his filing systems."
"I like the systems," I said, leaning against the railing. "The toast is an engineering marvel."
Rokk chuckled, but the sound was tight. He handed the basket to Thokk and then patted the neck of his mount. The beast huffed, stomping a massive hoof.
"Everything okay?" Thokk asked, his voice dropping into that professional register I’d heard when he arrested the drunk at the saloon. "You’re tapping your leg. You only do that when the livestock is sick."
Rokk stopped tapping. He looked at his brother, face serious. "It’s the luminooks. Something’s off."
Thokk stiffened. "Off how? Is it the feed?"
"No. They’re eating, but... the colony is behaving strangely. They’re agitated. The humming patterns have changed—it’s higher pitched, choppy. And last night, they weren’t glowing as brightly. They were dim. Like they were scared to show themselves."
I felt a prickle of unease crawl up my spine. Animals were the first to know when the atmosphere changed. They sensed pressure drops, storms, predators.
"Show me," Thokk said.
"I’ll drive," Rokk said. "Or you can saddle up."
Thokk turned to me. "I need to go check this out. You can stay here, lock the—"
"I’m coming," I said, already moving toward the door to grab my boots. "I want to see them."
Thokk hesitated, his gaze sweeping over me, likely calculating risk percentages. Then he nodded once. "Get your coat. It’s windy out by the pens."
---
The luminook pens were located on the outskirts of Dusty Gulch, nestled against a ridge of reddish rock that acted as a natural windbreak. We took Thokk’s truck, following Rokk’s sorhox down a dirt road that kicked up clouds of amber dust.
When we pulled up to the enclosure, the first thing I noticed was the sound. I’d expected a low, soothing hum, like a cat’s purr or a distant generator. Instead, the air vibrated with a frantic, oscillating whine. It set my teeth on edge.
We got out of the truck. The smell of sage and dry earth was sharp in the air.
"Over here," Rokk said, leading us toward the main pen.
The enclosure was massive, fenced with tall, sturdy posts and heavy-gauge wire. Inside, dozens of creatures huddled together. They were round, fluffy things, about the size of sheep but with iridescent fur that seemed to shimmer even in the daylight. Along their spines, rows of soft spikes pulsed with a faint, nervous light—pale blue, violet, weak yellow.
"See?" Rokk pointed. "They usually spread out to graze this time of day. They love the clover near the south fence."
I stepped up to the wire, hooking my fingers through the mesh. My eyes scanned the herd, not looking at the cute faces, but at the formation.
"They’re bunched," I said quietly. "Look at the orientation. The adults are on the outside, facing outward. The smaller ones are in the center."
Thokk moved up beside me, his heat radiating against my arm. "Defensive positioning."
"Exactly," I said, slipping automatically into the mindset I used to wear like a second skin. Analyze. Assess. Deduce. "And look at where they’re huddled. Backs to the rock pile. They’re protecting their rear flank. Whatever spooked them, it came from the open side of the pasture."
Thokk looked down at me, one eyebrow raised. "You know livestock behavior?"
"I know fear behavior," I corrected. "Prey animals act predictable when they feel threatened. They minimize angles of attack." I pointed toward the far end of the fence line, away from the rocks. "If they’re huddled here, the threat came from there."
Rokk frowned, squinting at the far fence. "That’s just the perimeter fence. Nothing out there but scrub brush and the old access road."
"Let's walk it," Thokk said.
We left Rokk to try and calm the herd with a bucket of feed and walked the perimeter. The ground was uneven, dotted with rocks and tough clumps of grass. I kept my eyes on the dirt, scanning.
Thokk moved silently for a big man. He was scanning the horizon, playing the bodyguard, while I scanned the scene.
"You're different today," he said after a moment.
"Different how?"
"Focused. Sharp. You look like you're working."
I shrugged, keeping my eyes on the fence line. "Old habits. You don't survive where I came from by ignoring the details."
"Here," I said, stopping abruptly.
We were about fifty yards from the main gate, at a section of the fence that looked, at first glance, completely normal.
I crouched down. "Don't touch it."
Thokk knelt beside me. "What do you see?"
"The tension is wrong." I pointed to the wire mesh near the bottom post. "See how the cross-hatching is slightly warped? Someone cut this."
Thokk leaned in, his eyes narrowing. "It looks intact."
"That's because they were good." I pulled a pen from my pocket—I always carried a pen—and used the tip to gently lift a section of the wire. It separated cleanly. "Cut with heavy-duty shears, then reattached with fine-gauge wire. From a distance, it looks solid. Even up close, you’d miss it if you weren’t looking for the stress fractures in the metal."
Thokk made a low sound in his throat. A growl. "This wasn't kids tagging a wall."
"No," I said. "This is an ingress point. Low profile. Professional."
I stood up and scanned the ground immediately inside the cut. The earth was hard-packed, difficult to track on. But professionals were arrogant. They assumed no one would look close enough.
"There," I whispered.
About two feet inside the fence line, partially obscured by a tuft of sagebrush, was a depression in the dirt.
"Boot print," Thokk said, reading it instantly.
"Vibram sole," I noted. "Hiking boot. High quality. See the depth of the heel strike? Whoever wore this was carrying weight. A pack, maybe. Or equipment."
"Too large for a child," Thokk murmured, hovering his hand over the print to measure it without touching. "Too narrow for an orc."
He stood up slowly, his shadow falling over me. When I looked up, he wasn't looking at the print anymore. He was looking at me. His expression was unreadable, his jaw set.
"Cassidy," he said. The way he said my name was heavy. "You assess rooms for exits. You read body language like a textbook. You identify wire gauges and heel strikes."
My heart hammered against my ribs. I straightened up, dusting off my hands. "I told you. I’ve had to be careful."
"No," Thokk said softly. He took a step closer, not threatening, but intense. "That’s not just being careful. That’s training. I know a trained investigator when I see one. The way you interview witnesses, how you compartmentalize... That’s not something you pick up in basic police training, and it’s certainly not something a civilian learns from reading mystery novels."
I froze. The wind whipped my hair across my face, stinging my eyes. The safety I’d felt in the kitchen, the warmth of the buttered toast—it all felt suddenly fragile.
He knew. He didn't know what, but he knew what I was.
"Thokk," I started, my voice trembling.
"Who are you really?" he asked. "And don't tell me Cassidy Smith. I checked the databases. She doesn't exist past three months ago."
The air left my lungs. He’d checked. Of course he’d checked. He was Thokk. He checked everything.
I looked at the cut fence. The professional entry. The threat. It wasn't just vandalism. It was precise. Malicious.
If I lied now, I lost him. I lost the only safe place I’d found.
"My name is Cassidy James," I whispered.
The wind seemed to carry the words away, but Thokk heard. He didn't move. He just waited.
"I was a forensic accountant," I said, the words tumbling out now that the dam had cracked. "For Blainsworth Industries. In Chicago."
Thokk’s eyes widened slightly. "Blainsworth. The shipping conglomerate."
"The money laundering front," I corrected bitterly. "I thought I was just auditing their logistics division. I found... everything. Bribes to senators. Human trafficking routes disguised as cargo shipments. Billions of dollars in dirty money."
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the sun. "I went to the FBI. I testified. Edgar Blainsworth is in a supermax prison because of my spreadsheets."
"But he has sons," Thokk said. It wasn't a question.
"Three of them," I said. "And they vowed to burn everything down to get to me. The witness protection program set me up in Oregon, then Idaho. But they kept finding me. I ran here because it was off the grid. Because I thought..." I choked back a sob. "I thought I could disappear."
I looked up at him, waiting for the rejection. Waiting for him to realize I was a walking target, a danger to his peaceful town, to his family. "They were going to kill me, Thokk. They still are."
Thokk stared at me for a long, agonizing moment. Then, slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
"I know," he said.
I blinked. "What?"
He tapped the screen and turned it toward me. It was a file folder labeled External Threat Protocols: High-Level Resources.
"I knew you were running from something the moment I saw you," he said, his voice steady as a rock. "The way you scanned the diner. The way you flinched when the door chimed. I didn't know it was Blainsworth, but I knew it was serious."
"You... you knew?"
"I deduced," he said. "And then I prepared." He swiped on the screen, showing me a list of sub-folders. Perimeter Hardening. Safe House Locations. Emergency Extraction Routes.
"I designed this system after watching The Bourne Identity," he said, completely serious. "I realized how many gaps existed in our town's security grid. If a highly trained operative came for you, the standard sheriff's protocols would be insufficient."
I stared at the phone, then up at him. A laugh bubbled up in my throat—hysterical, relieved, incredulous. "You built a Bourne Identity protocol for me?"
"Jason Bourne was efficient," Thokk said with a shrug. "Though his property damage liability was excessive. I refined the approach."
He stepped closer, his large hands coming up to cup my face. His thumbs brushed away a tear I hadn't realized had fallen.
"You are not alone in this, Cassidy James," he said fiercely. "You have been carrying the weight of an entire crime syndicate on your shoulders. Put it down. I’ve got it now."
"Thokk, these people... they’re dangerous. Professional." I gestured to the fence. "If that’s them..."
"If that's them," Thokk said, his eyes darkening with a terrifying promise of violence, "then they have made a fatal tactical error. They came to my town."
He leaned his forehead against mine. "I will keep you safe. I have a plan for every scenario. A backup for every plan. And six brothers who are itching for a fight."
For the first time in three years, the knot of terror in my chest loosened. I wasn't just hiding anymore. I was protected.
"Hey!" Rokk’s shout shattered the moment.
We broke apart, turning toward the pens. Rokk was running toward us, his face pale under the green tint of his skin.
"Thokk!" he yelled, waving his arms. "Get over here!"
We ran back to the main gate. Rokk was standing by the feeding troughs, holding a small, broken collar in his hand.
"I did a head count," Rokk said, his voice shaking with rage. "I counted three times to be sure."
"What is it?" Thokk asked, his hand dropping to the stun baton on his belt.
"Three of them are gone," Rokk said. "The blue-spined younglings. The babies." He held up the collar. It had been sliced clean through. "Someone took them."
My stomach dropped. "They didn't just break in," I said, the horror of it settling in. "They’re stealing."
"Someone is targeting the luminooks," Thokk said, his voice cold and hard. "And now they have hostages."
I looked at the cut collar, then back at the invisible cut in the fence. A professional intruder. A specific target.
"Thokk," I said quietly. "Blainsworth’s sons... they don't steal pets. They hire hitmen."
"Then we have two problems," Thokk said, turning to look at the horizon where the boot prints pointed. "Or the problems are connected. Either way, no one leaves this valley with those younglings."
He pulled out his radio. "Dispatch, this is Unit One. Initiate Protocol Bourne. Code Red."
I watched him, the green giant calling down the cavalry, and realized I’d been wrong about safety. Safety wasn't a place. It wasn't a fake name.
Safety was a seven-foot orc with a plan.