Morning in Ridgecliff began with a hush — not the calm before a storm, but the silence of a town that hadn't decided whether to acknowledge the returning ghost in its midst.
Brendon walked up the steps to the Ridgecliff Police Station. The building loomed like a tired sentinel, its windows grimy with neglect, its corners chipped by time. The badge above the door still bore the town's emblem — an old iron star cradled in twin ravens' wings.
The lobby door creaked when he pushed it open.
The moment he stepped inside, time slowed down.
Heads turned. Conversations halted. Even the old fan behind the reception desk seemed to hesitate, as though it too wasn't sure if it should keep spinning.
A young officer dropped his pen.
Sofie Lee, working behind her curved desk littered with devices and monitors, blinked in surprise — then smiled, small and genuine.
Sofie (standing up): "Well, I'll be damned. Sheriff Wolf."
Brendon nodded once, voice calm.
Brendon: "Morning, Sofie."
Her voice lit up a little more than the sterile lights overhead.
Sofie: "I always said you'd come back. Nobody believed me though, but I knew it."
Brendon: "You always did have better algorithms for predictions. No one can doubt that."
She chuckled, brushing a loose strand of hair from her forehead.
Sofie: "We upgraded the systems while you were gone. Don't worry, I kept your old files backed up in a private node. Some people around here wanted to delete them."
He gave her a brief but sincere look of thanks, then kept walking.
Behind him, murmurs began to spread like whispers in a church. His name. His history. His absence. The wolf that left and returned.
---
In the hallway, he passed the forensics lab. Inside, Scott Wright — the ever-composed Komodo dragon anthro — stood hunched over a desk, examining a set of faded fingerprints under UV light.
Scott didn't look up as Brendon passed. But he spoke, voice dry and level.
Scott: "If you're here to stir things up, Sheriff, make sure you leave a good trail. I don't like cleaning up after storms."
Brendon: "Good to see you too, Wright."
Scott: "Huh huh. Welcome back."
That was about as friendly as it got from Scott. Brendon moved on.
Further down, he passed Judith Kay, the gazelle anthro detective in charge of investigations. She was reading a file while walking, eyes scanning quickly.
She stopped when she saw him, blinking rapidly before stepping forward.
Judith: "You... you're back?"
Brendon: "In the flesh."
She hesitated, then extended her hand.
Judith: "Good. Some of us never filled that void. Too much silence around here."
They shook hands briefly. Her grip was steady — the kind that came with years of professionalism, tempered by genuine respect.
Brendon: "Glad to see you're still here."
Judith: "Someone had to keep the fire burning."
He gave her a small nod before moving to the one door he hadn't been ready to face: Chief Victor Tyson's office.
---
The door was already open. Inside, Victor Tyson, the grizzled bull anthro with years of grit etched into his posture, was hunched over a desk stacked with half-reviewed reports. He didn't look up.
Tyson: "I thought I smelled a mutt."
Brendon (even-toned): "And I thought you'd be sleeping in today."
Tyson finally raised his head. His horns scraped slightly against the frame of the chair as he leaned back.
Victor Tyson: "You got gall walking back in here like nothing happened."
Brendon took a step in.
Brendon: "I came to do my job. Unless that's been redefined as sitting behind a desk and grunting."
Victor grunted again, but not from amusement. More from the pressure behind his clenched jaw. His eyes were hard. Bitter. But behind that glare was something more — something unreadable, buried beneath decades of resentment.
Victor Tyson: "You abandoned your duty. Left your team for your personal vengeance... to kill that bastard. Wolves are supposed to run in packs, aren't they?"
Brendon: "I didn't abandon you people. I lost my reasoning back then. There's a difference."
Victor's nostrils flared. He stood up slowly, and the floor groaned beneath his weight.
Victor Tyson: "You've got your badge back because someone up top pulled strings. That doesn't mean the station's yours again. And it sure as hell doesn't mean you walk around like a hero."
Brendon: "I don't need to be a hero. Just need a desk."
Victor snorted and grabbed a mug from the side table, muttering.
Victor: "Don't trip over the damage you left behind."
He turned his back to Brendon and waved him off like a nuisance. Brendon said nothing more. He simply turned and walked out.
---
Sheriff's Office
He opened the door to the room that used to be his.
The scent of coffee and fatigue hit him like a wall. Papers lay in stacks on every surface. The blinds were only half-open, letting in stripes of light that stretched across a face he hadn't seen in a long time.
Robert Kühl.
He sat hunched at the desk, his tail limp, his ears low. The loyal assistant was still there — the eager young dog hybrid who once bounced with excitement. Now he looked like he'd aged five years in one and a half.
Brendon stepped in and gently closed the door.
Brendon: "Robert."
The pen froze in Robert's hand. Slowly, he looked up.
His eyes were rimmed with shadows — dark circles bloomed like bruises. But when he saw Brendon, those tired eyes widened with something pure and immediate.
Relief.
Robert (softly): "Partner…?"
Brendon nodded once.
Brendon: "Didn't think I'd leave without saying goodbye, did you?"
Robert was up before the sentence finished. He crossed the room in two steps and embraced Brendon tightly, arms around the taller anthro's shoulders, fists trembling slightly.
Robert: "You… you're really here. I thought you were dead. They said you—"
Brendon: "I know. I heard the news."
Robert pulled back and wiped his face with his sleeve.
Robert: "I… I tried. I really did. But it's been chaos. Tyson doesn't trust me. I've been acting sheriff, but I don't have your presence. People don't listen the same."
Brendon looked around the room.
Brendon: "Looks like you've been carrying more than you should."
Robert sat back down with a heavy sigh.
Robert: "I haven't slept in days. Jason — that new recruit — he helps, but…"
He trailed off.
Brendon: "But?"
Robert's jaw twitched.
Robert: "He doesn't respect me. He's one of those silver-badge purists. Thinks hybrids like me aren't 'real' lawmen. Says it in nicer words, but I hear it. He thinks I should still be fetching coffee."
Brendon exhaled slowly and sat across from him.
Brendon: "Then maybe it's time someone reminded him what real lawmen look like."
There was a knock at the door. A pause. Then a new voice.
Jason: "Sir? Sheriff Kühl — I mean, Wolf — I've got the updated parole sheets."
Brendon looked at Robert, who grimaced faintly.
Robert: "That's him."
Brendon: "Let him in."
The door opened and Jason Ramirez, a broad-shouldered koala anthro with a neatly ironed uniform and textbook-perfect posture, stepped in. He paused when he saw Brendon — recognition, calculation, and something close to skepticism in his eyes.
Jason: "You must be Sheriff Wolf. I've read your case history. Quite the… legacy."
Brendon stood slowly.
Brendon: "Legacy's still being written."
Jason handed over the files with mechanical efficiency.
Jason: "If you need help adjusting, I've kept the logs updated per standard regulation. Sheriff Kühl had been overwhelmed, so I—"
Brendon raised an eyebrow.
Brendon: "So you decided to run things your way?"
Jason paused, unsure how to respond.
Brendon stepped closer, voice steady.
Brendon: "Robert's been handling more than his fair share. Show some respect next time. We're not running a chain of command based on pedigree."
Jason blinked — surprised, maybe even chastised. He gave a curt nod.
Jason: "Understood, Sheriff."
He left.
Brendon turned back to Robert, who looked both stunned and relieved.
Robert: "There was no need to do that."
Brendon: "I did. Scums like these... they think of themselves superiors because of their ascribed status."
He sat back and leaned into the chair, eyes sweeping over the room. It had changed. Everything had. But some things — loyalty, friendship — these things remained solid.
Brendon: "We'll take it one step at a time. Okay?"
---
Later That Evening
Brendon stood in the sheriff's office alone after everyone had gone.
He walked to the board at the side of the room — a faded map of Ridgecliff, crime zones marked in colored pins. He picked up a red pin and placed it near the industrial block.
The folder from Ninja Fox still sat in his coat pocket.
He tapped the map once. Then again. He was looking at something bigger than paperwork or protocol.
And he wasn't just back to reclaim his badge.
He was back to uproot the rot.
One floor below, the lights dimmed one by one.
In the quiet hum of Ridgecliff PD, the storm had only just begun.