The morgue was supposed to be a quiet place. Refrigerated rooms, sterile tables, the silent business of processing the dead. Portland's medical examiner operated a professional facility that handled hundreds of bodies monthly with minimal drama.
Tonight, it became a battlefield.
The Verrat moved first—six operatives breaching through the loading dock with military precision. Their intel was good; they knew exactly which drawer held Marie Burkhardt's body. What they didn't know was that Viktor's team had anticipated their move.
Gunfire erupted in the receiving area. Suppressed weapons, professional tactics, the efficient violence of people who killed for a living. I watched from my position near the roof access, tracking the chaos through enhanced senses that painted the building's interior in sounds and scents.
"Verrat engaged with Viktor's team," I reported through the earpiece. "Six confirmed on each side. They're focused on each other."
"The Hundjäger pack is moving." Monroe's voice was tight. "Flanking through the maintenance tunnels. They'll hit the morgue from below."
"Copy. Angelina, status?"
"In position. Ready when you are."
I dropped through the roof access, landing in a service corridor that ran parallel to the morgue's main hallway. The sounds of combat were muted here—distant gunfire, muffled screams, the percussion of violence contained within concrete walls.
Scalpel was already inside. He'd positioned himself as a morgue assistant three days ago, establishing presence, learning routines, waiting for the moment when his true purpose would become relevant.
That moment had arrived.
The morgue's examination room was chaos when I reached it. Two Verrat operatives had breached the space, only to find Viktor's people waiting. Bodies littered the floor—some dead, some dying, none relevant to my objective.
Marie Burkhardt's drawer was open. Empty.
[OBJECTIVE STATUS: KEY NOT PRESENT AT EXPECTED LOCATION]
[PROBABILITY: SCALPEL COMPLETED PRELIMINARY EXTRACTION]
[RECOMMENDED: LOCATE SCALPEL - ACQUIRE KEY]
I moved through the morgue's service corridors, following the route Scalpel and I had established during planning. The Geier was supposed to extract the Key from Marie's body and hide it in a predetermined location before the factions arrived.
The plan had worked. The execution was where things got complicated.
"Cross." Scalpel's voice was barely a whisper through my earpiece. "Second floor storage. I have it. But there are—"
The line cut to static.
The second floor of the hospital complex housed administrative offices, closed at this hour. I took the stairs three at a time, enhanced senses straining to track Scalpel's position through the building's maze.
Blood. I smelled it before I saw it—fresh, Geier-specific, coming from behind a storage room door.
I kicked the door open.
Scalpel was pressed against the far wall, a Hundjäger's claws at his throat. Two more Hundjäger flanked the room, blocking exits. They'd tracked him somehow—followed his scent, probably, the way hunting dogs would track wounded prey.
"The Grimm." The lead Hundjäger's woge surfaced—elongated snout, pointed ears, the predator's grin. "We wondered when you'd arrive."
[THREAT ASSESSMENT: HUNDJÄGER PACK (3)]
[COMBAT CAPABILITY: B-RANK (COORDINATED)]
[OBJECTIVE: KEY ACQUISITION]
[TACTICAL RECOMMENDATION: ELIMINATE BEFORE REINFORCEMENTS ARRIVE]
"Let him go."
"Give us the Key, and perhaps we will." The lead Hundjäger pressed harder against Scalpel's throat. Blood welled where claws pierced skin. "Our employer is very interested in Grimm artifacts. He's willing to pay generously for cooperation."
"Who's your employer?"
"Someone who isn't Viktor or the Verrat." The Hundjäger grinned. "Someone who understands the Keys' true value. You're welcome to deal with us directly, Grimm. Better terms than you'll get from the Royals."
An unknown player. Someone with resources to field a Hundjäger pack, intelligence to know about the Key, and the audacity to move against established Royal interests.
"File that for later. Deal with the immediate threat."
"I don't negotiate with people who threaten my Pack."
I moved.
The Reaper combat instinct I'd extracted guided my actions—reading attack patterns before they developed, finding openings in coordinated defense. The first Hundjäger went down with my sword through his chest before his partners could react.
The second came at me with trained precision—the kind of attack that would have killed me a month ago. Now I sidestepped, deflected, and opened his throat in a single motion that felt more instinct than decision.
The lead Hundjäger threw Scalpel aside and charged. His claws raked toward my face, seeking eyes, seeking the soft tissue that even Siegbarste durability couldn't fully protect.
I caught his arm, twisted, felt bones crack beneath enhanced grip strength. He screamed. My sword ended the scream permanently.
[KILLS REGISTERED: HUNDJÄGER (3)]
[COMBAT ASSESSMENT: EFFICIENT - 8 SECONDS TOTAL]
[NOTE: EXTRACTED ABILITIES SHOWING SIGNIFICANT COMBAT INTEGRATION]
"Scalpel." I helped the Geier to his feet. "The Key."
"Here." He pressed something into my hand—small, metallic, ornate. The Grimm Key was warm against my palm, almost alive with whatever power it contained.
[ARTIFACT ACQUIRED: GRIMM KEY (1 OF 7)]
[SIGNIFICANCE: EXTREME]
[HISTORICAL NOTE: PART OF MAP TO UNKNOWN LOCATION]
[WARNING: POSSESSION WILL ATTRACT MULTIPLE HOSTILE FACTIONS]
The Key was smaller than I'd expected—barely four inches long, designed more like a decorative object than a functional lock mechanism. Symbols covered its surface, worn smooth by centuries of handling.
"Can you move?" I pocketed the Key and checked Scalpel's wounds. The cuts were shallow—more intimidation than damage.
"I'll manage." The Geier was pale but steady. "The extraction was successful. I removed it from her... from where it was stored. Before the factions arrived."
"Good work." Genuine appreciation, surprising us both. "Now we need to get out."
The building's lower floors were still chaotic—gunfire, shouting, the sounds of multiple factions fighting for a prize that no longer existed. I guided Scalpel through back corridors, avoiding the main conflict, heading for an exit we'd scouted during planning.
We made it to the first floor before running into Nick Burkhardt.
The other Grimm stood in our path, his own sword drawn, his eyes silver-bright in the emergency lighting. His expression combined grief, confusion, and dangerous determination.
"You." Nick's voice was rough. "I know you. The consultant. Cross."
"Detective Burkhardt." I kept my hands visible, non-threatening. "This isn't a good time for introductions."
"My aunt just died." His grip tightened on the sword. "And people are fighting over something in the morgue. Something she had. Something you want."
The tactical analysis churned possibilities. Nick was between us and the exit. He was grieving, unstable, potentially violent. But he was also confused—a man reacting to circumstances he didn't fully understand.
"I'm sorry about Marie." The words came out more genuine than I'd intended. "She was a real Grimm. One of the last."
"And you're what? A fake one?"
"I'm something different." I met his eyes—silver to silver, Grimm to Grimm. "But I'm not your enemy, Nick. What's happening here—the fighting, the chaos—I didn't start it. I'm just trying to survive it."
"By taking whatever they were fighting for?"
"By keeping it out of the wrong hands." I took a step forward. Nick didn't attack, but his stance shifted—ready, watchful. "There are things in this world you don't understand yet. Things Marie was trying to teach you before she died. I'm not going to hurt you, and I'm not going to explain everything tonight. But you should know: the people who wanted what Marie had would have killed her to get it. I waited until she passed naturally."
"You're saying that like it makes you noble."
"I'm saying it because it's true." Another step. "Now I'm going to walk past you, and you're going to let me, because neither of us gains anything from fighting each other tonight."
Nick stood frozen for a long moment. The sounds of combat were fading—one faction or another had won the main battle, and soon they'd start searching the building.
"Go." Nick's voice was barely a whisper. "But this isn't over."
"It never is."
I moved past him, Scalpel following, heading for the exit. Nick didn't attack. Didn't follow. Just stood there in the emergency lighting, looking like a man who'd lost more than he could comprehend.
We made it to Monroe's car two blocks away. The Blutbad had the engine running, Angelina in the back seat, escape route already programmed into his mental map.
"Did you get it?"
I pulled the Key from my pocket. The small artifact gleamed in the car's dim interior, symbols catching light like they held secrets.
"I got it."
"Viktor's team is pulling out." Angelina reported from the back seat. "The Verrat took heavy losses. The Hundjägers are gone—dead or retreated."
"And Nick?"
"Still at the hospital. Looking lost." Monroe pulled into traffic, leaving the chaos behind. "What did you say to him?"
"The truth. Parts of it, anyway." I turned the Key over in my hands, feeling its weight, its warmth, its significance. "He'll have questions. Eventually, he'll come looking for answers."
"And when he does?"
"We'll see what kind of Grimm he decides to be."
The safe house was a converted warehouse in Portland's industrial district—one of several properties I'd acquired through channels that didn't involve official records. Monroe parked in the loading area, and we swept the building before settling in.
Adalind arrived an hour later, having extracted from her own surveillance position. Her expression when she saw the Key was difficult to read—hunger, fear, fascination, all layered beneath professional composure.
"You actually got it."
"Scalpel did the hard part." I set the Key on a table, letting candlelight play across its surface. "The rest was just chaos management."
"Do you know what it does?"
"Part of a map, according to the Bestiary." I traced the symbols with my finger. "Seven keys, created by Grimm ancestors, hiding the location of something worth dying for. This is one of seven."
"And the others?"
"Scattered. Different bloodlines, different continents. The Royals have been collecting them for generations."
Adalind sat beside me, studying the Key with professional interest. "They'll come for this. Viktor, the Verrat, whoever the Hundjäger were working for. Everyone who knows you have it will want it."
"I know."
"And you're keeping it anyway."
"It belonged to a Grimm." I picked up the Key, felt its warmth against my palm. "Whatever it protects, it was important enough that Marie Burkhardt literally died keeping it safe. I'm not handing that to people who'd use it for conquest or profit."
"What will you use it for?"
"Finding the others. Figuring out what they lead to. Making sure it stays out of wrong hands." I looked at her. "The game just got bigger, Adalind. This isn't just about Portland anymore."
"It never was." She took my hand—the gesture becoming familiar between us. "You've been building toward something larger since you started. The Pack, the alliances, the reputation. Now you have a piece of whatever puzzle Grimms have been protecting for centuries."
"Does that scare you?"
"Terrifies me." But she was smiling. "And excites me. You're not like any Grimm I've ever known, Cross. Not like anyone I've ever known."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It was meant as one."
The Key sat between us on the table—one piece of a larger puzzle, one artifact in a collection that had been scattered across generations. I had one. The Royals had others. Somewhere, possibly, more pieces waited to be found.
The game had changed. The stakes had elevated. And somewhere in Portland, Nick Burkhardt was processing revelations that would eventually bring him back into my orbit.
I had time to prepare. But not as much as I'd like.
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