The hum of the engine and the steady roll of tires on asphalt were the only constants during the ride back to Ridgecliff. Brendon sat behind the wheel of a matte-grey cruiser, the kind issued only to law enforcement, though his badge hadn't been shown in over a year. But thanks to Ninja Fox's contact he got one now.
His coat for now rested on the seat beside him, the folder still buried in its inner pocket. He hadn't looked at it again. Not yet.
The landscape was as quiet and haunted as his thoughts — long stretches of cracked earth, scrubby bushes clinging to life, the occasional dry riverbed and rusted sign. Ridgecliff didn't announce itself. It simply appeared again like an old scar, framed between withering trees and a single narrow bridge that crossed the sluggish thread of a river.
Brendon exhaled slowly. "Here we go again."
The closer he got to the town's edge, the more he noticed how time had either stood still or decayed — perhaps both. Faded storefronts, peeling paint, broken fences no one had repaired. And then the people.
As the cruiser turned into the main street, the townsfolk stared.
Not just stared. Recoiled.
A woman dropped her cigarette mid-step. A kid tugged on his father's sleeve and pointed. A middle-aged man muttered something under his breath and turned away. Their faces shifted through emotions like radio dials: confusion, disbelief, dread. Maybe they got afraid of their most dreaded sheriff coming back gere after over an year. Or maybe the in general hate and fear towards wolves (as well some other anthros like foxes, snakes and some more like them)
Brendon didn't stop. He didn't wave. He didn't make a eye contact. He just kept driving, right down the spine of Ridgecliff, toward the looming brick structure with its crooked flagpole and sandstone façade — the Town Hall.
---
The Town Hall hadn't changed.
Same outdated notice board, same broken clock stuck at 11:17.
Brendon (sighs):
"They still haven't repaired it."
The air here smelled of paper, wood polish, and old promises. He climbed the stairs with the gait of a man returning to a place he'd rather forget.
Two guards stood near the mayor's office doors — one recognized him, eyes wide, but said nothing. Maybe they'd been told not to speak to him. Maybe they were just afraid to.
He knocked twice, firmly.
Voice from inside:
"Come in."
He opened the door.
Mayor Arnesto Guerieo sat behind an overly polished desk, mid-50s, thick jowls, and a smirk permanently stitched into the corner of his mouth. His suit was dark blue, his tie a garish red that screamed power, not taste. His posture straightened when he saw Brendon, but his expression didn't waver.
Guerieo:
"Well, well. If it isn't the ghost of Ridgecliff's past. For a moment I really thought ghosts are real."
Brendon stepped in, boots echoing on the hardwood floor, and closed the door behind him.
Brendon:
"Mayor Guerieo."
Guerieo leaned back slowly in his chair, hands folding on his stomach like a bloated spider.
Guerieo:
"I'd heard whispers. Thought it was just rumors. But here you are, breathing and all. I have to admit, Brendon... I thought you were dead."
Brendon (calmly):
"Better to be thought dead than buried under lies."
Guerieo chuckled. His eyes — cold and calculating — never left Brendon's face.
Guerieo:
"Still cryptic as ever. You know, people have long memories in Ridgecliff. Not all of them are pleasant. What brings you back though? Bored of being missing?"
Brendon:
"Government reinstated my position as sheriff. I go where I'm needed."
Guerieo:
"Ah, reinstated. What a convenient little word. And here I thought you were done with us. One and a half years, and not a peep. Then suddenly, you're back in your uniform. Almost feels like someone sent you."
Brendon gave a half-shrug, unreadable.
Brendon:
"Town's still in one piece. That's a good start."
Guerieo (dryly):
"Depends which piece you're looking at."
A knock on the door interrupted the tension.
Voice:
"Mayor, it's me, Devina."
Guerieo:
"Come in."
The door opened smoothly, and Devina stepped inside. Neatly dressed in a tailored black blouse and slate-grey skirt, she walked with professional ease. Her dark brown hair was pinned up, and her presence — calm, efficient, polished — immediately filled the space.
Brendon turned.
Their eyes met.
A pause.
Devina's green eyes locked onto his for half a second too long. She blinked once, and so did he. A scent drifted in with her: lavender.
It hit him like a whisper in the brain.
Lavender.
That same scent from that bunker-like area. From the masked figure who spoke so carefully, moved so silently. That same faint grace, even in the way she stood.
Could Devina be the Ninja Fox?
It made a strange kind of sense. She worked in the mayor's inner circle. Had access to the infrastructure documents. Could explain how she gathered evidence from within.
But one detail crushed the theory as quickly as it rose — her eyes.
Brendon remembered it clearly. The Ninja Fox had violet eyes, like a storm behind stained glass. Devina's were green. Not jade or olive — a clear forest green.
And lavender... well, it was a common enough scent. A popular note in perfumes for women in leadership roles. Comforting, assertive, classic.
The theory dissolved.
Devina spoke, cool and collected.
Devina:
"Sorry to interrupt. The press brief for next week's grant proposal is ready for your review."
Guerieo:
"Excellent. Leave it on the side table, would you?"
She nodded and walked past Brendon. He didn't turn to watch her — but his senses stayed sharp. Her footsteps were lighter than he remembered. Controlled. Like someone trained to walk without sound.
Still…
No. He couldn't afford to get paranoid.
As she placed the document folder on the table and turned to leave, she paused for just a breath.
Devina (to Brendon):
"Welcome back, Sheriff."
Brendon (neutral):
"Thank you."
She left. The door closed behind her with a whisper. But something ticked him off again. Her voice was too calm as if she is not that much surprised.
Guerieo clapped his hands together lightly, bringing Brendon back to reality.
Guerieo:
"Well. Now that that awkward energy's passed… I assume you'll want your accommodations? Your department's ready to receive you — mostly. Your deputy's been acting lead since your absence. You'll find he's… let's say comfortable in your chair."
Brendon:
"I'll sort it out."
Guerieo tossed him a small ring of keys with a crooked grin.
Guerieo:
"Your new-cum old apartment. Government-issue housing, just near the station. Convenient. Not so glamorous."
Brendon caught the keys mid-air. His fingers closed around them like steel.
Guerieo:
"You're not thinking of pulling such stunt again, are you?"
Brendon (level):
"If I do, I'll leave a note this time. Or a call woukd be 'convenient' too."
Guerieo's laughter followed him as he walked out, but it didn't reach the mayor's eyes.
---
Ridgecliff Police Housing – Later That Day
The building looked like it had been imported from a different decade — square design, flat roof, beige walls streaked with old rain trails. Two stories, four units per floor. His apartment was 1B.
The hall smelled of burnt toast and damp carpet. He reached the door and stopped.
His name was already on the plaque. "Sheriff B. Wolf."
His old place.
He slid the key in but didn't turn it. His hand rested on the knob.
Beyond that door was everything he'd left behind — and everything that had moved on without him.
Deputies soecially Robert who had thought him dead.
A community that might no longer trust him.
Old files.
Old ghosts.
He wasn't ready. Not yet.
Brendon pocketed the keys and turned away.
He didn't go to the station either. Didn't want to see the looks on their faces — shock, suspicion, judgment. There would be time for all of that. Later.
Instead, he walked down the street toward the only thing that still made sense: silence.
---
Nightfall – Apartment Rooftop
Brendon stood on the rooftop, arms crossed, staring at the horizon as Ridgecliff's scattered lights flickered like dying embers. The wind tugged at his coat, and he inhaled the dusty air of a town pretending it hadn't cracked.
He thought about Guerieo's smile. Devina's eyes. The unspoken challenge in both.
He pulled out the folder again and flipped it open under the pale rooftop light. Names. Numbers. Companies. Patterns.
Follow the rot, the Ninja Fox had said — without saying it.
Brendon's jaw clenched.
He was back in Ridgecliff. But this time, he wasn't here to serve it.
He was here to clean it.
Even if that meant burning it from the inside out.