#wolfssenger

“Are you sure you only have Claire available tomorrow? Then I'm not sure if I can. There's been rumor she has a cough and I just can't afford to take that chance…”

“How much longer on this shift do we have? I was hoping to grab some whiskey and cigars before the downpour started, but…”

“Did you hear about what happened last night at Holger Square? If you didn't, the Courier is sure to run a piece on it soon. Either way, I don't think Campbell will be visiting any time this month…”

“Has the Madame given you today's schedule? Can you switch with me? This man, I just- he always hits too hard and I just- I can't, not this time…”

“Don’t lie to me, Officer! My brothers have been missing for over a week! Yet you're telling me you saw them just yesterday? The Pendleton twins are unmistakable, and none of the girls here have seen them recently, so once I find out who paid you to keep quiet, you'll have my lawyer to answer to!”

Corvo shifted in the shadows as the stiff and irritated form of the youngest Pendleton heir interrogated an equally agitated City Guard. He fidgeted, feeling his own annoyances grow. This brothel held many secrets and stories, sure, but did any of them matter to him? The increasing consensus so far was no, and that did nothing but bother him even further. His skin itched and his teeth gnashed and he pulled at the Void just to give his mind something to do.

He moved from room to room, trying to refocus on why he was here in the first place: finding Emily and bringing her back home.

Martin didn't say it so directly, but there was a chance that Emily was here, dropped off by Burrows in a plea to be rid of a loose end. Corvo could see the logic behind such a decision; killing Emily causes more issues than it solves, and conveniently “losing” her means she can be heroically “found" by Burrows later, cementing his spot in power. And if she isn't found, she can be forgotten, another lost daughter amongst all the others.

At least, that was the prevailing theory. It was sound enough that Corvo wasted no time in getting here and commencing his feverish search. But the more he looked, the less he found and the more he feared he was on a wild goose chase.

That fear was slowly morphing anxiety and anger. He crawled and smoked through the rafters, trying to quiet the growl threatening to bubble up and out of his throat. As much as he ached to change, it would do no good to make a scene in a place like this.

Though, if Corvo was honest with himself, a man turning into a giant wolf might actually be the kind of distraction a place like this would enjoy and undoubtedly look forward to.

He curled a lip down at the vivacious and inebriated guests and decided it best to simply move on and leave them to their strange sexual fantasies. Instead, he spied a pair of women making their way back to the powder rooms, and decided the back rooms would be quieter and less fervent than the main areas. He swept his eyes over the before smoking in after them, just as the door shut and locked behind him.

“All these folks are comin’ in like the rain; hard, fast, and far too wet,” the one complained to her friend once they were out of earshot of the patrons. Corvo flattened himself into a stall, holding his breath as he listened to the conversation. Through the Void pulled over his eyes he watched as the other scoffed out an agreement, moving to adjust her revealing outfit.

“At least we'll get paid double for our time,” the girl commented, “what with the plague and the weather, we'll all need it.”

“What? Madame Prudence said nothing to me about this!” The first complained, pulling out a bag from a locker down the ways. She brandished it at her co-worker, “She still owes me for having to deal with that noble who thought it right to smack my face. Sure, he was kicked out, but…”

“You should take it up with her then,” the friend huffed out, changing her top. “But she told me I'd get double pay, at least. And she should have the money, most of it comes from those Pendleton's, after all.”

“And did you hear the twins went missin’?”

The other girl paused.

“No? I mean, I coulda sworn I saw them just yesterday, but maybe it was their brother…”

They moved on to a different room; Corvo let them go, brain turning. It was the second time he had heard of the missing Pendletons, and of the Madame, who seemed to manage the girls. He didn't much care about the twins -- he ’s sure he threw one of them out of the Tower for insulting Jessamine -- but the Madame could be of some help. If anyone would know if Emily was here or not, it’d be her.

One stretch of the senses and stairwell climb later, Corvo found himself hovering outside the office door to the owner of the Golden Cat. His senses told him the Madame was on the other side, deep in a heated intercom conversation.

As he stood and weighed his options in the hallway, a soft, rhythmic thump from his inner coat pocket whispered it's own opinions to him.

The Golden Cat was here long before Madame Prudence found it, the Heart privately told him, but the curtains were her idea.

“An eclectic sense of taste,” he murmured back, head tilting as he watched the glowing body of the Madame end the conversation, tutting back to her duties. He waited a beat before smoothly raising a fist and rapping his knuckles against the door.

The Madame was halfway around her desk when she paused. Corvo watched through the Void as she wiped down her coat and vest, straightened her furred shawl, and stalked over. Corvo stepped out of her field of vision as she opened the door, waiting until she cleared the threshold before pulling a clawed hand down, bringing reality to a stop along with it.

The magic smoked from his burning hand as the world greyed around him, leaving all but himself suspended in time. Casually, he pocketed his hands and strode into the room past the annoyed form of Madame Prudence, noting her heavy makeup and beehive hair. His nose curled in anticipation of the heavy perfume her office undoubtedly reeked of.

He leaned against her desk and with a sigh, let his glowing mark fade to black as time resumed again.

It wasn't but another moment before a mumbling Madame turned back to her room, closed the door, and winced at the sight of Corvo, with his deep hood and gnarly mask. However, if she was afraid she didn't show it, but she did place a hand to her chest, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

“If you're here for my theatrics play, there are easier ways to get my attention, you know!”

Corvo's head cocked. His nose twitched; the office was not only perfumed but also heavy with drugged hookah smoke. His lip curled in disdain; not even a dunk in the sewers was going to get this stench out of his jacket.

“Apologies for the intrusion, Madame,” he rasped out, throat burning against the laced atmosphere. “But I'm not here to be part of the cabaret.”

He remained casual: she remained irritated.

“Then what are you here for?” She sniffed out, straightening her back. “If you aren't here by appointment, then excuse me, for the safety of my courtesans I must alert the guards to have you escorted-”

She moved to the knob. Before she could turn the door open he was there, one hand over hers and another gripping her throat to the wood of the door.

And there it was, the faintest sliver of fear. His grin slipped into place. Perhaps now he could finally get her to take him seriously.

“I don't think you want to do that, Madame,” he growled out, low and soft. “We can do this the easy way, but bringing in the guards will make this exponentially harder for both of us. Besides, causing that sort of scene is…” he adjusted his grip and tilted his head. “Bad for business.”

Even so threateningly close, Prudence managed to scowl up at Corvo, sniffing at his mangled metal mask.

“Is the best you can do? You come into my property, sneak past my guards, and can't even threaten me properly?”

Corvo stilled. Prudence scoffed.

“You haven't even told me what you want, boy. And do you have to be so close? You smell like a wet dog.”

Corvo removed the Madame's hand from the handle, putting his body between her and her only method of escape. He watched her carefully, undeterred by this old woman's lack of self-preservation.

“I'm looking for a girl. I was tipped off that she is here, in hiding.”

Prudence fixed her shawl and looked him over.

“There are a lot of girls here, if you hadn't noticed. Be more specific.”

Corvo rumbled out a growl, one clearly inhuman and tired of this business. Prudence stilled, eyeing him critically.

“Don't play dumb. The girl would be young, near ten. Royal blood. Probably asking for her mother… or the Royal Protector. I'm sure someone with two coins to rub would gladly pay out the nose to hide her here and keep her quiet.”

The Madame narrowed her eyes.

“You think I'm holding the late Empress’s daughter here? Do you think I have a death wish?” She scoffed out a laugh and paced, casual. “Well, truth be told, I didn't even get the offer. Not with those Pendleton's conveniently going missing.”

Corvo shifted, crossing his arms.

“What do they have to do with anything?”

“Outsider’s ass, you were the Royal Protector, weren't you? You can't hide from me, boy,” she laughed, before adding, “the Pendleton's own silver mines. Their wealth comes from them, they paid half the nobles here in Dunwall and perhaps even Gristol. They were among my best customers, even if they are rough with some of the girls…”

“Whom you should treat better,” Corvo muttered out. Prudence's eyes flashed dangerously.

“Those girls are mine, and I will handle them as I please!” She snarled back, but Corvo just rumbled out another warning himself, and they went back to their standoff. “I won't have some dog telling me how to care for my own property…”

“Get to the point,” Corvo stated threateningly, “so that I can leave you to find the Empress's daughter.”

“The point is that the rumor from the girls is that the Pendleton's were supposed to have her, but they never got their hands in her.”

“What?”

“It was quite the point of contention, one they complained about constantly. And then, they up and vanished.” Madame shrugged. “Must've been too loud, those idiots. And now I'm out my wealthiest customers and instead have to deal with their nagging brother.”

“Where were they last seen?”

“Outside the Distillery District,” the Madame said. She went over to her desk, pulled out a long cigarette and readied to light it. “But the Bottle Street Gang rules those alleyways. My girls aren't allowed there, so you'll have to go there yourself to look for any more clues.”

Corvo straightened up off the door.

“Thank you for the information. However, I need assurance you won't speak of this.”

Prudence lifted a drawn-on eyebrow, pulling a drag from the cigarette.

“Didn't we already discuss the fact that you being here and making a scene is bad for my business? The back door is to the right and down the stairs. Now get out of here before I change my-”

Prudence blinked, and looked around. The masked man was gone, and she was standing alone in her office. Huffing out a ring of smoke, she carefully checked under the desk, in the closet, around the hookah. All the most likely (and unlikely) places for a killer to hide. Nothing.

Five minutes passed. She sat down, contemplating as she smoked her cigarette. Finally, assured privacy, she reached out once again for the intercom switch.

A black, clawed, hand grabbed her wrist, holding it tight. She gasped, throat catching as the hand smoked and burned, and a low rumble emanated out from the mask glowering down at her.

“I mean it, Madame,” the destroyed voice told her, as the light caught on the glass lenses of the mask’s eyes. “Not a word.”

Her blood ran cold as she nodded. He nodded back and as fast as he had reappeared the figure fled again, leaving no trace behind.

For once, Madame Prudence decided to live up to her own name and chose to not speak of her meeting with Corvo Attano to anyone, ever.

------

There were worse jobs to be assigned to than scouting. There were more boring jobs to be assigned to than scouting. Like laundry. Or patrolling. Patrol duty was always assured to be a long shift filled with nothing but the smells of rats and whale oil and not much else to look forward to.

But if Connor was being honest with himself as he flitted from rooftop to rooftop over the Distillery District, scouting was still at the bottom of the 'exciting jobs’ list. Common folk probably saw assassin work as mysterious and interesting when in truth it was a lot of waiting and watching and doing next to bloody nothing in-between.

Connor also knows, in the back of his mind, that Daud only sent him out to give him something to do. Not that much needed to be done; the area simply had to be routinely watched. Devon and Kieron already dealt with Slackjaw and the Pendleton twins a while back, so his presence was more for quality assurance. His job was to listen and make sure nobody was asking the wrong questions or following up investigative leads.

And of course, Connor just needed to get out of the base one more time before the rain hit. After the seasonal deluge started, nobody would want to go out or do anything, himself included. Best to get the stir-crazy out of his bones now-- but with the rain threatening already, not even being dry was a guarantee on this particular mission.

“It's not that bad,” a soft voice offered in his ear, but he shrugged the contact away. As much as Connor enjoyed having the mental connection to his brother, he also didn't need to hear his twins’ soft admonishments from where Thomas waited back at base. Why Daud hadn't sent them both out was beyond him, but Connor supposed this was an easy enough job for one. It didn't require both of them just to make sure there weren't any more leads looking into the Pendleton's disappearance.

With a flurry of ash, Connor landed and hunkered down on a low rooftop across from the Distillery where Slackjaw kept his offices. He rested his head back against the nearest chimney and let his senses extend. Even through the muffled sound and reduced visibility of his heavy whaler mask, he could hear and see every passerby with the help of the Void. Daud had gifted him and his brother with plenty of abilities, including ones that made an endlessly boring job slightly more bearable. Connor turned his head, his eyes silently following the route of a guard, the sad lurching of a plague victim, the gamblings of the Bottle Street Gang.

It was shaping up to be a quiet shift.

All the better to eavesdrop with.

A flash from the sky caught in his peripheral for just an instant. Connor instinctively inhaled, tilted his head and counted the seconds.

Three beats later, the rumble came. Connor shifted and cursed to himself; the rain closer than calculated. The clouds didn't look any friendlier, either. Perhaps he'd be getting water-logged after all.

“As if we need another wet dog here,” Thomas mused, his presence brushing against Connor's mind once again. Connor frowned; as much as the Bond kept them connected no matter how theoretically far apart they were, sometimes he could do without his brother’s casual observations of his missions. Sure, their stronger mental link meant better recon back to Daud but still, privacy and silence would be nice sometimes.

“This is just payback for when you wouldn't leave me alone when I was stationed at the Boyles Estate,” his brother told him, the smirk coloring every thought that washed softly over Connor's mind. “You wouldn't stop asking me for better angles on Lady Boyle, if I remember correctly. I swear your voyeurism knows no bounds.”

“Alright, alright fair,” Connor eventually relented, and Thomas's smug triumph filled his mind, mixing with Connor's own irritations. “Just let me do this in peace, I'd like to try and make it back before nightfall.”

“Well before I go; Emily sends her regards.”

Connor swallowed. Thomas withdrew from his mind, the silence left behind a tangible thing. He clenched his fist, doubling his interest in the Dunwall citizens below to occupy the space left behind. He tried but failed to stop the mental image of Emily Kaldwin, back at the base and sending her love, probably hopping around Thomas as he relayed what Connor was doing and-

He ground his teeth down, biting at his tongue. They really shouldn't be so attached. It was all too dangerous. She was the Empress’s daughter. She was slated to rule one day. They didn't need to sleep cuddled up with her, or let her borrow their masks, or let her pet them or-

He took a deep breath. It was dangerous. He knew it; The Whalers all knew it. Daud probably knew it too, with how fidgety he’d become as of late. And yet, there was something about her, something that drew the wolves to her like flies to --

“Did you see that? Up there.”

Connor stiffened, the confused growl rumbling out of him unbidden. Instinctively, he clenched his fist; in a rush of ash he leapt 20 meters away, safely out of the sightlines below. He took a steadying breath; no way they had seen him, but something had made his hackles rise, had made him second guess himself.

And then it hit him.

The wind shifted and the scent of another filled his nostrils. Connor stilled and forced his body low. There was another wolf here, and it wasn't Daud, or another Whaler. He knew all of their scents by heart, like knowing a relative's face.

So who…

Movement by the distillery had Connor freezing in place, his limbs rooting him to the spot. By the door he witnessed the flash of light and smoke beforr a tall hooded figure appeared out of nowhere, spooking the nearby guard.

The figure looked around. A metal mask glinted in the remaining light.

Before their gazes could meet Connor was moving, already transversing to a new rooftop, one closer to the old brewery. His heart hammered in his chest as he crouched low, doing his best to hug the wall.

His distress didn't go unnoticed.

“Connor?” Thomas tentatively offered, mind brushing against his. He took a shaky breath but didn't respond. First, he needed to see what in the Void was going on. Conversation floated up to his position and he strained his ears, listening.

“Hmph. One of you dogs, again, huh? What you want?”

“I'm not one of those…” there was a pause, like the broken voice behind that mask had to take time to collect itself. “You were expecting me?”

“Slackjaw ain’t dumb. He always knows you lot come back for check-ups. Come on.”

A door unlocked, opened, then closed. Connor peeked over his hiding spot, breath heavy on the exhale. He looked down: the party had moved indoors. His attentions immediately turned the roof of the distillery, looking for cracked windows, bad ventilation shafts, or shoddy roof tiles.

“Connor , ” Thomas tried again, as Connor clenched a fist and let his body slip inside through a loose window. “Connor, who was that? What's going on?”

“I may have stumbled on someone, or someone stumbled on me,” he fed back to Thomas as quickly as possible. “Don't tell Daud, not yet.”

“Don't tell-- Connor are you insane?!”

But Connor didn't give his twin the benefit of a response. He ignored the surge of phantom anger and annoyance and instead hugged the rafters, squeezing through pipes and over wood to follow that hooded figure inside.

The interior of the distillery was hot, even in the large, open air space housing the huge fermentation vats. He transversed from shadow to shadow, keeping his body as high up as possible, doing his best to follow the voices leading him further into the brewery building.

“You look a little lost. Surprised that ol’ Slackjaw knew you were coming?”

Connor slipped around, claws growing from smoking gloves to grip at wood barrels. He caught the scent of the other -- the Turned wolf he was sure was Corvo Attano -- and he stilled in instinctive apprehension. With a tilt of his head and a wave of his hand, Connor watched their conversation through the Void.

“I don't care about that,” that raspy, broken voice said. “I just want to find Emily. To that end, I was pointed in your direction.”

Connor swallowed; there was a snap of teeth on the edge of those words that not even the Royal Protector’s mask could hide. How much control did he even have? Connor shifted uneasily at the possibility that it was less than expected. Fighting a feral, newly turned whale-wolf wasn't his idea of a good time.

But at least it wasn't boring.

“You were sent to me? ” Slackjaw asked, feigning surprise. “Why? I don't have the girl, and if I did I probably would have sold her for a pretty penny.”

The hooded silhouette of Corvo Attano shifted, fist clenching. The growl rolling off him was palpable.

“I went to the Golden Cat looking for Jessamine's daughter-”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And heard the Pendleton's had mentioned her-”

“Oh?”

“And now they are missing, and they were last seen in the Distillery District.”

“That so.”

Slackjaw didn't seem perturbed by Corvo in the slightest, but that didn't surprise Connor. Slackjaw dealt with worse than an agitated Royal Protector on a daily basis. Connor had seen his previous business negotiations with Daud -- that was truly terrifying.

Slackjaw coolly paced the office, picking a knife up and spinning it on the tip of a finger before sheathing it at his side.

“You best be careful where you're sticking your nose, Lord Protector, or you're gonna get yourself burned.”

“I'm not a Protector without someone to protect,” he snarled, hands flexing. “And I need to find her first. Either you help me, or you get out of my way.”

“That what you told the High Overseer, before he shat himself?”

Corvo shifted. Slackjaw laughed.

“Listen here, Corvo, this area is my business. And I have good friends in this business . You can be one of my good friends! I just need something in return.”

Not a beat passed before a heavy purse hit the wood table between them. Even Slackjaw appeared surprised; he looked from the purse to Corvo before slowly reaching down and grabbing the coin.

“Courtesy of the Golden Cat.”

“My my, I didn't know our fancy Royal Protector was a thief at heart.” Slackjaw rubbed a hand over his moustache before reaching in the purse and checking the coin. “So. My Lord. What would you like to know?”

“Where is Emily?”

Connor shifted as the cold dread of guilt flooded his system. Slackjaw, however, held no such feelings as he openly shrugged in front of Corvo.

“No idea, and that's the damned truth. But I do know the Pendleton's were talking about the Empress's daughter, and I know what happened to 'em as a result.”

“And?”

“Had a guy come through a few weeks back,” Slackjaw concluded, counting a few of the coins in the purse. “Was paying to have anyone talking about the Empress taken care of, and I knew some powerful people who were flapping their jaws.” He grinned, pocketing the money. “It benefited us both to have those mouthy twins removed from the picture.”

“Do you know who he was? The man who paid you?”

“Oh that assassin, who has all his little masked followers.” Slackjaw eyed Corvo carefully. ”You're not with him? That Daud fella?”

“He is not working with me,” Corvo snarled out, and the rage was so intense, Connor felt himself slink back. Even Slackjaw brought his palms up, looking for peace.

“Don't shoot the messenger, friend. I just know what you are, and what he is. I've seen his rooftop dogs, he can't fool ol’ Slackjaw.”

Heart thudding in his ears, Connor worked out of his hiding spot as discreetly as possible. He'd overstayed his welcome already, but if he didn't get back to Daud with this soon...

Connor's foot kicked. The pressure valve burst. Slackjaw yelled. Corvo's head jerked.

Connor clenched his fist, using the cover of the steam to transverse up and away through the rafters. He prayed that Corvo didn't notice him, hoped he could use this as a clean get-away.

The window he crawled in through was still open. He scrabbled through it, claws scratching on the glass, feeling the wind catch angrily against his mask and jacket as soon as he was free of the building. Connor looked skyward; the clouds were dark and angry and ready to drop.

“Thomas,” Connor sputtered out loud. Instantly his brother brushed against his consciousness, questioning. “Thomas, there's been a complication.”

“What's going on?”

“It's Corvo,” he told his twin. His gloved hand closed, the Void propelling him to a different rooftop. “He knows Slackjaw was paid off, he knows Daud paid him off-”

A crack of lightning. Connor turned his head from the too-bright flash. When he looked back, a figure stood in front of him, blocking his path.

Connor froze.

“Don't tell Daud yet,” Connor frantically relayed as the thunder crashed and reverberated in his chest. “I'm going to handle this.”

“Damnit, Connor!” Thomas shot back, worry lacing his anger, but Connor didn't respond, couldn't respond, not with that mask keyed on him, watching his every move.

Connor tensed. Neither of them moved. He knew he'd been spotted, but now it was a battle to see who would break first, who would give chase. They were both predators, in their own ways. They didn't flee or fear easily.

But this… this was different.

Connor knew he would have to run. He shared Daud's powers, yes -- he could transform, manipulate space, see through walls. But he was still just a bonded wolf, using borrowed magic. Corvo was… he was something much greater and far more dangerous than that.

Another flash. Corvo vanished.

Connor jumped through the Void as fast as the magic in his veins allowed. He felt more than heard the arcane power crackle in the air behind him, hanging amongst the ozone and electricity of the coming storm. His hair raised; his head ducked.

Those long black claws sliced right where his scalp had been.

Connor spun, twisting around to bring his blade up to parry the next swipe. Corvo's claws clashed loudly against the steel and Connor caught the glint of the mask, that laughing metal face, and felt the anger hiding just behind it.

Spirits, Corvo was going to kill him.

He pushed the blade up and side-stepped the next attack, but Corvo was faster than anticipated. He clipped Connor-- just for Connor to dissolve into ash. The Royal Protector's claws slashed through air and he snarled, taking no time to temper the growing ferocity of his voice and body.

“Coward,” he rasped out, looking for Connor even as the assassin reappeared silently behind Corvo. He bent low and kicked out his legs and then immediately blinked away again before Corvo fell on him. He then leapt off, trying to gain distance before Corvo gathered himself up and gave chase.

“I don't know how much control he has,” Connor shot across to Thomas, reigniting their connection. “I don't know-”

“How bad is it?” Thomas asked, sharp and clinical. “Can you transform and get away?”

Connor heard an angry roar from somewhere on the other side of the rooftop and cursed. Against his better judgement, he looked back; Corvo was blinking in and out, a blur of smoke and fur, that was quickly gaining on him.

“I can't. If I lead him back to the Flooded District-”

“Isn't that what Daud wants?”

“He'll kill everyone, Thomas! Not an option!”

“Okay, if he's that much of a danger then I'll tell Daud and-”

“No! No, I’ll deal with this. I'll send him on a wild goose chase then report back when the coast is clear.”

“Connor…”

It was stupid. Well, not stupid, but it was reckless. And it definitely wasn't boring. Might even be fun.

A terrifying, semi-feral bit of fun.

Outsider's ass, he needed to get out more often.

Connor breathed, then blinked right into Corvo's line of sight. The man -- if he could even be called that -- turned, zeroing in on his movement. Corvo's body was wavering at the edges; limbs too long, back too hunched, focus too tight.

Connor readied himself. He'd have to move faster than he ever had before. Under his own mask, he felt himself smirk.

“Please, don't get yourself killed,” Thomas pleaded.

“No promises.”

Connor's fist clenched and he was off, speeding over the rooftops. Corvo fell for it; like a carrot on a stick he leapt after Connor, chasing him across the skyline as another flash of lightning lanced by. Corvo was fast, but Connor knew the area better. He jumped diagonally, making his movements erratic. And while it worked for a time, it wasn't enough. Like a spear Corvo’s aim was straight and true. He crashed into a rooftop next to Connor, launching himself straight at him, claws raised, snarling-

Leaving Connor to blink away just in time.

The howl Corvo let out was screeching, like a dying whale. Connor's body stumbled against the power of it, instinct overruling his self-preservation. His knee hit the rooftop, hard: less than a beat later he's thrown, the wind knocked out of him, his mask smashing the tiles with a painful crack. He can smell Corvo, can hear the deep rumbles, can feel his claws sink into the lapels of Connor's coat jacket as he’s dragged up just to be smashed down again.

“Where is he?”

Connor didn't need to ask who Corvo meant, not when those angry daggers were digging into his coat, threatening permanent damage. Despite imminent death, Connor didn't respond, keeping his mouth closed, thanking the Void that his mask hid any and all emotion. Corvo waited, but as no answer came his patience waned. He threw Connor into the roofside again, snarling, the heat of his power coming off in waves.

Then a mind slammed into Connor's, angry and vicious and wild.

“WHERE IS HE?”

Connor gasped, his breath catching and his body shrinking away. Corvo threatened to mentally suffocate him, throwing all of the weight of his turmoil straight at Connor. Instinctively Connor’s mind retaliated, shoving against the pain and the emotion, frantically doing whatever he could to get Corvo out, out!

Corvo stilled and his mind retreated so fast it left Connor light-headed. The grip on his jacket lessened, the magic smoking off of Corvo's arms. Connor eyed him carefully; the hooded, masked man before him shuddered, his body cracking.

“What was that?” Corvo gasped out, as if his teeth were remembering how to talk. Connor said nothing, too stunned to move.

Oh Void, Connor realized, he's never-

Corvo himself was no longer paying Connor any attention. The man himself was falling apart; every now and then Connor would feel the distress of his mind brush against his, but even the softest push against Corvo's thoughts sent him wincing back, the foreign sensation too much for his mind.

And yet, Corvo couldn't control it. The contact felt terrified, angry, tentative , as if Corvo was realizing he yearned for the mental contact but didn't know what it was, or how it was happening. Which was possible, right? Connor didn't really know, his mind had been linked to Thomas -- to Daud -- for so long that-

Corvo vanished.

Connor gaped.

His head was clear; the distress of the Royal Protector completely gone. He sat up, looking around furiously. A quick inhale told him Corvo really was gone, as if he teleported -- or, more likely, stopped time--

“Connor.” The new voice boomed across the Bond, it's clarity and familiarity overwhelming. “Get back here. Now.”

“But sir, Corvo-”

“Left,” Daud told him, the irritation and acidity of his thoughts laced with relief. “And you're relieved of duty for tonight.”

“Yes, sir.” Connor replied, head bowing even without Daud there to see it. He stood up and called to the Void; fur flowed out, bones popped and senses sharpened as he leapt from the rooftop, four legs propelling him fast than two. His wolf body moving on residual adrenaline, beelining for the Flooded District.

“I told you not to tell Daud,” he shot angrily to Thomas, though he added the cool tones of reassurance as their thoughts touched.

“And I told you not to get yourself killed,” Thomas retorted back.

"And I didn't,” he stated, matter-of-factly. Around his paws, fat drops of water began to appear, signalling the coming rain. They were both quiet; Connor was tired, Thomas was upset. It wasn't until he had made it halfway back to the Flooded District that he finally asked what neither of them wanted to bring up.

“Perhaps we don't tell Emily?”

“Anything else, officer?”

Geoff shifted, self conscious, but kept his frown in place and his eyes on Corvo.

“Just a few questions. Who did you speak to before we left the Abbey?”

“Oh, you were awake for that?” Corvo's eyebrows shot up in light surprise. He cleared his ruined throat before continuing, ”He’s an Overseer named Teague Martin. He'll be joining us later at the pub.”

“Any reason why?”

“I helped him, so hopefully he'll help me. Besides, I have something he wants.”

Corvo fished out a small black book from his belt satchel, holding it up between his fingers.

“Isn't that Campbell's?” Geoff inquired, eyes narrowing on the worn leather and yellowed pages. Corvo nodded before lazily twirling the book and storing it away on his belt again. “And just what has become of its original owner?”

“Campbell’s alive, if that's what you're asking. He probably isn't too happy about the state of his belongings right about now, though.” The ghost of a smile crept over Corvo's face; he may have left Campbell in one piece but he certainly hadn't been kind about it.

And with the evidence Corvo had, the High Overseer’s days in power were numbered.

“So it’s true, then? He planned on being rid of me?”

Corvo nodded, eyes sharp in spite of his weariness.

“I discovered a glass of poisoned wine in your intended meeting room and an audiograph that incriminated his actions. I have it, if you'd like to take a listen later.” Corvo let his lips pull further into a wicked grin. “For a High Overseer, that man certainly has a lot of skeletons.”

“Well, when you're close to someone like Hiram Burrows…” Geoff muttered, clearly agreeing even without the evidence. His eyes then widened and he jerked back to Corvo.

“Burrows... Corvo!” he gasped, a finger pointed the Royal Protector. Sam looked between them, surprised by the action. “I know -- it wasn't your fault the Empress died. I know that it was Hiram, he set up the hit on Jessamine. I overheard his plans while traveling the Isles with him; you were falsely framed. You're as much a victim as Jess was.”

Geoff made the statement like a revelation; as if the puzzle pieces had finally fallen into place, like he finally remembered why Campbell was trying to kill him in the first place.

Corvo, of course, knew he was innocent. Sam and Callista did too, or at least believed it well enough to not inquire. But there was a huge difference in personally knowing his own innocence and hearing it aloud as fact from a third party. Corvo felt himself sag, letting go of the air in his lungs like a deflating balloon.

“Thank you,” Corvo rasped out softly, his damaged throat catching painfully on the words. He didn't know what he was thanking Geoff for; Curnow didn't seem to know either,blinking in astonishment at Corvo's response. But Corvo didn't care.

It was nice to simply be reminded he was innocent.

There was a beat between the three of them. Corvo could feel himself drifting from relief, the whisper of the Void already strong in his sleep-deprived ears.

“Ah,” Geoff started, his voice keeping Corvo above the surface. “You're welcome, I think. But I always knew that Hiram was lying about you, because I caught him mentioning the real assassin to the High Overseer months ago.”

A giant, scarred, shadowed wolf. A pack of smoking dogs that scattered like ghosts. A river of red, running hot down Corvo's arms to pool collectively with the blood of a dying Empress.

Corvo was up so fast Geoff jumped in his seat. His jaw clenched, his whole being tightening like a spring as his body fought for control against the beast under his skin. His expression darkened; Geoff leaned back, worry coloring his features.

“That assassin,” Corvo growled out. “Who is he? Who did Hiram hire?”

“I--” Geoff stuttered and swallowed, eyes glancing to Sam for backup. “You didn't know?”

“A name,” Corvo snarled. “I need a name.”

“He's known simply as Daud,” Geoff obliged. “The Knife of Dunwall and head of the Whalers group.”

Daud.

The name crashed down on Corvo like a wave. He felt his chest heave, felt the wolf lunge and fight for release. He remembered now; Hiram uttered the name just once in Corvo's presence, back when he was fever-wracked and newly turned and his life was a blur of pain. Of course he hadn't realized then the significance of the name, couldn't put two and two together when he could hardly remember who or what he was.

But now…

The assassin's title consumed Corvo’s mind in a way he didn't understand as he committed it to memory, saying the name over and over again like a horrible prayer. As he did something else, someone else answered, reaching out to Corvo's thoughts, coming as if called to him, to his very mindspace --

“Lord Corvo.”

Corvo managed to look up at the gentle pull of his name. Sam was there, offering him a hand, blocking Geoff from any possible backlash. Corvo's eyes flicked from Sam to Geoff; the Watch Officer’s face was pale in the moonlight, his hand defensively resting on the hilt of his sword.

“Corvo,” Sam softly repeated.

Corvo breathed. He swallowed and stilled his racing thoughts. He flexed the claws clutching deep at the fabric of his old Protector coat. He didn't recall letting them grow out.

“I'm here, Sam,” he muttered out. “Apologies, Curnow.”

“No need, Lord Corvo,” Geoff replied, but his broken voice betrayed him. Corvo swallowed again, evening out his breath. Claws and fur burned away and disappeared: Geoff eased off his weapon as well.

“Daud,” Corvo parroted out, the only thing still on his racing and confused mind. Again, the whisper of a consciousness brushed against his thoughts at the name, followed by a bone-deep ache that had nothing to do with weariness. Corvo shivered before meeting Geoff's face once again.

“Yes, Daud,” Geoff carefully added. “he's got quite the reputation with the Abbey and the Watch. Some eyewitnesses once reported him as a Wolf of Men. Didn't ever think that description would turn out to be so… literal.”

Corvo snorted and shook his head.

“At least I have something to look for,” Corvo said, bemused. “Thank you.”

Geoff nodded, his face still holding a hint of unease as he looked Corvo over. “Of course, Lord Protector.”

“And--” Corvo choked out, finally attending the one question he most feared the answer to. “Do you know -- have you heard -- anything on Emily?”

Geoff’s face fell into a look of near pity, the sadness there cinching tight around Corvo's heart.

“I'm sorry, Corvo,” Geoff said, his sincerity causing Corvo's throat to painfully squeeze shut. “I have no idea what happened to the Empress’s daughter. And whatever Burrows planned for her, I never learned.”

Corvo looked down and away, only managing a nod as he settled back into the boat. He expected that sort of response, but knowing he was still no closer to Emily left him more drained than ever.

They fell into silence. Despite needing to rest, Corvo's body was too wired from the discussion to sleep. His limbs itched to be used and he fidgeted the whole ride back, unable to stay still. Before the boat was even tied down he was leaping free of it, his shaking legs carrying him to the building and up a flight of stairs before their pitying looks could even hope to stop him.

He wasn't present for the Curnow family reunion. He didn't want to be; instead he settled for listening to hear their muffled voices, watching them through the Void from the second story landing. Callista had stayed up late waiting for them to return; she broke into hysterics as she saw her uncle, throwing herself into his arms upon seeing him whole and healthy.

Corvo huffed and looked away, letting the Void leak out of his vision. From down the hall, a door jostled and creaked open.

Corvo froze.

A groggy servant poked their head out from behind the door; Callista's cries must have been loud enough to rouse them, even at this witching hour. Corvo eased; the worker was a young woman with disheveled brown hair and heavy eyes. Her angry grumbles morphed into a nervous squeak she caught sight of Corvo on the landing, leaning against the railing. Immediately she flushed and muttered out an apology, trying to pull herself back into her room as quickly as possible. Corvo blinked, his stomach going cold.

“Wait,” he whispered out. She jerked and didn't meet his eye, but she did as she was told. He licked his lips, choosing his words carefully has he strode over.

“Can I ask what your name is?” He tried to sound as gentle as possible, but his ragged voice made that goal next to impossible. The girl's eyes darted up to him before looking away again.

“Cecelia, sir,” she muttered. “Please, I don't be meaning no trouble--”

Before she could continue, Corvo pulled a heavy purse out of his coat and held it out to her. She looked at it warily and didn't move to take it -- not until he shook the bag slightly, the soft jangle of coin making the contents obvious and unmistakable.

“There will be a few more people staying at the pub soon,” he whispered to her, gently setting the purse in her outstretched palm. “This should be enough to cover any inconveniences or amenities during their stay.”

Cecelia gaped at the weight of the coin suddenly resting her right hand, her left furiously wiping the sleep from her eyes. She tested the weight and checked the money inside, looking back at Corvo in a sort of bewildered awe.

“Sir--” she croaked out. “Sir, I can't accept this--”

“Get it to your boss, then,” Corvo shrugged. “And make sure it's distributed to the other workers. Just consider it compensation for -- for dealing with me.”

“Thank you, Lord--” but he was gone before she even finished the sentence.

Stopping time was still a new sensation for him -- incredibly draining and empowering in one fell swoop -- but he used the power to get away regardless. He didn't need to hear her sincerity and frankly he didn't really want it. He just wanted to sleep. His brain still spun with what he'd learned on the way back from the Abbey; he needed time to digest, to be alone.

And he needed to get rid of the insistent pressure at the back of his skull that felt entirely foreign and not his own.

He closed the door to the attic and resumed time; color returned to the world and from somewhere a few flights down he heard a surprised gasp, no doubt Cecelia processing the fact that Corvo had -- to her perception -- suddenly disappeared. He huffed out a small laugh and turned to the room proper; as soon as he found the rickety old mattress he fell on it, fast asleep and unaware of the gracious mutters lingering in the hallway just outside.

------

Karnaca spread out below Corvo, just as he remembered it.

He knew this had to be a dream; he hadn't seen the city in near two decades, even if he knew the feel of it all the same. The sun burning on cobbled stone, the dust billowing on the horizon, the sticky smell of bloodfly amber -- this was the Karnaca he memorized long ago, able to pull it perfectly out of his memories even as the Void curled at the edges of the city and his wolfen body gave him a new perspective.

His memory served him well; all the same paths and winding alleys were exactly as he recalled, all the secrets only he and his sister were ever able to find. He leapt from hard stone to choking vines to winding wood, the trees at Karnca’s edge encroaching like they never had in real life, unruly and wild and overpowering. The warmth of the wood under his claws resonated with him; he was alive as the city slept, the city where he was born and raised and became the man he was today.

Corvo wound through the branches like a furred snake, all confidence and deadly elegance. But he wasn't careful; even his mind had a way of pulling tricks on him. He took a too-sharp corner and stopped dead in his tracks the air suddenly shifted.

He was no longer in Karnaca. The scents throttling his nose were nothing like the hot sand he recalled of his youth. This was heavy industry and smoke; sea and salt and the bitter tang of processed whale oil. In the distant sky -- obscured by cloud and high above the city line -- a whale keened, the sound shifting between high and low, between sadness and anger. The song of it made the fur of his neck bristle, his very soul shaking under the weight of it.

He was in Dunwall. But unlike Karnaca it was twisted, warped by the very capriciousness of his dreams.

Corvo.

His chest lurched as something hooked deep into his very core; pulling and yearning for him, calling him by name. His claws dug painfully into the wood as he tested the air, his mind reeling. His body shuddered and shook before he was off again, leaping from the rooftops to whatever pulled so powerfully on his soul.

It was long before he found his answer.

A huge, hulking form. Black fur and blazing blue eyes. A long scar marred the right side of his face as he turned to face Corvo.

Their gazes locked. Rage boiled up. Lips curled back and fangs flashed and Corvo screamed.

The force of his howl shook the very fabric of his dreamscape, rippling through the air like disturbed water. Still, the assassin wolf didn't move, didn't react, just stared Corvo down as he leapt, racing to where that other wolf was, to where he stood and --

The world shifted. Rocks shot up. The path changed.

And the wolf of Daud was gone.

Corvo panicked. The ache of his chest worsened with his rage and he clawed forward, searching for a way past his new blockade. The world tilted dangerously, warping under his very feet and throwing him off-balance. Dunwall was quickly changing into something dark and terrifying, the wind whipping up and chilling him to the bone. Yet the powerful tether maintained it's connection. Daud still called to him, but from where, he couldn't tell.

Corvo clawed his way over stone and concrete, finally reaching the surface only to find the world dark, the songs of the whales morphing into distant rumbles of thunder. The scent of rain on the wind overwhelmed him and he turned, trying to get his bearings.

“Corvo?”

The voice was soft and small, barely audible.over the whipping wind. But still Corvo's sensitive ears caught the word, and his throat choked on a stifled reply. It was too good to be true -- and yet, he couldn't mistake that voice, her voice, like the whisper of springtime bells, like innocence lost to a bygone age.

He jerked and turned, ears swiveling, focusing on the sound.

“Corvo!”

And then he saw her; she turned to him and she shone like a star, beckoning him to her.

Emily.

She beamed, and it felt too perfect to be real -- yet there she was, whole and well and waiting for Corvo with outstretched arms.

A shadow passed between them.

Like a ghost, the wolf smoked back into his vision, eyes burning like whale oil in the night. Corvo stopped, his gut going cold as Emily smiled and reached up to run a hand over the giant hound’s gnarled muzzle.

Emily! No!

But she wasn't listening anymore. She wasn't even looking at him, too busy petting the snout of the monster that had killed her mother, fangs so close to snapping her up too --

Corvo lurched forward but stumbled, stuck in place. Vines had crept up around him, long and thick and twisted, their thorns piercing his skin and fur. He yelled and cried; the weeds just wound tighter around his legs and dragged him down, away from the one thing that mattered above everything else.

No, nonono EMILY!

His claws left gouges in the wood as he dug at those inky vines trying to wake him. He fought desperately to stay in the dream, as if he could somehow get to Emily, even while asleep. But the vines were insistent, intent on dragging him back to the waking world.

All the while those cold, scarred eyes never left him.

I will find you, Corvo snarled threateningly back, praying for a reaction and getting none. I will find you and I will find her, that is a promise!

Good, was the single reply, so deep and loud it shook Corvo to the core.

His concentration faltered.

The thunder rumbled.

And the vines dragged him away, and Emily and the Knife of Dunwall were gone.

------

Corvo shot up in his bed, panting and shaking, his entire body screeching at him. It soon became apparent why; at some point in his sleep he had started turning, his limbs burning and smoking as hot fur covered his arms and shoulders. He breathed in and his ribs painfully cracked as they expanded; his face was stretched and his teeth too large and his fingers too long and it was all too much and wrong, so wrong.

It hurt like it did back in prison, back when he had no idea what was happening and it took all his energy to not return to that near-panic state. Not in Coldridge he reminded himself over and over -- on the back of his clawed left hand the Outsider's Mark still burned bright, backing up the logic of his thoughts. He took a few breaths, stilling his shaking limbs and willing his body back to normal. It took a few tense seconds but finally the fur billowed away, his joints realigned and the magic returned him back to fully human again.

He twitched and shook, more now from residual adrenaline in his veins than from any panicked exertion. Corvo’s jaw clenched; he thought he was past this. Apparently, that was just wishful thinking; this was only his second day with the mark, after all. But that mark was supposed to afford him some control over his mess of a being -- if he couldn't have that, what was the point?

Corvo growled, clenching his fist and calling to the Void. His mark flared, tingling against his skin as his black claws reemerged-- he immediately willed the claws away and his hand obediently returned to human once again.

He flexed his fingers and sighed, repeating the process until he was satisfied. Whatever had happened in his sleep didn't seem to affect him while awake. As long as he was conscious, Corvo could still pretend to be normal.

He got up and dressed as silently and as quickly as he could. He had no idea how long he had been asleep or what time it was; nobody had come to collect him this morning, and outside the sky was overcast, threatening an afternoon rain. He opened the window and sniffed; the air certainly was heavy with a humidity just waiting to be broken. Corvo frowned, closed the window until just crack remained open, and then left the stuffy attic to join the rest of the residents downstairs.

As soon as he entered the pub, every face turned to him. Corvo stopped in his tracks, alarm rising in his chest -- but then he caught Callista smiling at him over coffee, Cecelia’s flushed cheeks as she caught sight of him from behind the bar, Geoff's warm and encouraging nod. The atmosphere was anything but threatening; instead it was welcoming, as if requesting Corvo's presence instead of rejecting it. It was different. It was nice.

It made Corvo want to run away all the same.

He swallowed the urge, entering the pub proper. He caught Sam sitting in a booth reading the Courier; he made for him, hoping to join him for his quiet familiarity -- but the booth across from him was already occupied. Another man took up the seat, a man with dark hair, a sabre at his side, and robed in black and silver.

“Ah, Corvo, good to see you awake.”

Teague Martin leaned back in the pub booth, eyeing Corvo as he neared. Unease crawled up Corvo's spine at seeing Teague in the daylight but he nodded back just the same, sending a brief smile to Sam who beamed goodnaturedly back.

“Glad to see you made it here in one piece, Martin” Corvo offered. “Was it much trouble for you?”

“Hardly,” Martin said with a wave of his hand. “Overseers are allowed into quarantined areas with little question; in these chaotic times we've been offered more power than most.”

“I see,” Corvo said darkly, trying to not think of the implications of Martin's words. “Sam, is it alright if I sit with you?”

Sam smiled gently and folded the newspaper up in his hands. “Take my seat; I'm heading out to visit Piero anyway.”

Corvo shifted, uncomfortable. “Are you sure? I don't want to intrude or--”

Sam stood up and simply patted Corvo's shoulder before moving past him and outside. Corvo watched him go, unsteady from Sam's show of easy solidarity.

“Are you just going to stand there all day or are you going to sit down?”

Corvo jerked back to Martin, who watched him quizzically. Corvo’s frown returned and he sat across from Teague, studying the man carefully. He smelled clean, but in that sort of way that left no discernible scent behind. The back of Corvo's neck itched.

He pulled the small black book out of his jacket regardless, sliding it across the booth to the Overseer. Martin's eyes lit up at the sight of it, intact even after everything Corvo went through to get it. His eyes flicked briefly to Corvo's face before reaching out and taking the journal, gloved hands running across the corver before opening it and idly flicking through the pages.

“Outsider's eyes, you really retrieved it.”

Corvo hadn't shown Martin the book before they parted at the Abbey, opting to make sure the Overseer would actually show at the pub and stay true to his word. Now, Corvo leaned back in the booth, arms crossed as he kept a suspicious eye on the man across from him.

“After everything you witnessed last night, you really doubted my ability?” Corvo asked, incredulous.

“Honest men are hard to come by in this city, Corvo,” Teague replied smoothly, raising an eyebrow while scanning the journal’s pages. “You know this well, seeing how you tested me to see if I was worth the trouble.”

“You came for the book, Teague -- which means you're predictable, not honest.” Corvo growled back. “But you're here now. So now I get to ask; are you willing to help me?”

Teague scoffed and smiled a small smile. “What does a heretic like you expect from a man of the Abbey like me?”

Corvo tilted his head, eyes narrowing as his leg bounced under the table.

“Campbell works very closely with Burrows. He always has; they've been close for years, but since my priority was the Empress and her daughter, I paid no attention to it. Maybe if I had, well...” Corvo trailed off rolling his tongue over his teeth. Martin’s eyes followed the action, gaze going back to his eyes as Corvo sneered, and continued. “Either way, Burrows is the reason Jessamine is dead. He hired the assassin Daud to do the job, a fact he mentioned to Campbell. You have incrimination on Campbell and I'm looking for all the evidence I can get. What can you offer me?”

Martin's grin flashed wide but he said nothing, idly flipping through the book. Eventually, he came across an interesting page; he dog-eared it, bookmarking the placement for later.

“Campbell has many secrets, all of them damning and most of them of little interest to you,” Martin started cooly. “As shocking as it sounds, the religious elite love cavorting with devils.” He laid the book flat, his hands neatly over it.

“Campbell has been looking into heretical artifacts and individuals for years while systematically killing those who pose no real threat to the population.”

Corvo's jaw worked as he tried not to be surprised by this information.

“So he's been killing people falsely accused of witchcraft to keep heat off of himself?”

“More like keep the heat off his own pets, ” Martin corrected smoothly, “But yes. He's a big fan of the Royal Executioner -- who, despite being a rumored heretic wolf himself, has never been accosted or arrested. That's just one example of many; he picks and chooses his allies carefully and avoids those who could cause him consternation. Clearly he wasn't careful this time, not if Daud is involved.”

Corvo bristled at the name but did his best to keep his expression neutral.

“Daud; what do you know about him?”

Martin laughed.

“More like, what don't I know about him? The Overseers have been doing undercover investigation on the man for years, but he's so elusive most consider him a myth. Campbell destroys topics on him like he’s avoiding the plague; whenever he discovers an Overseer has made a personal project of trying to capture Daud, he burns any evidence. There are not many surviving documents in the Abbey on Daud. I've not met the assassin personally but whoever he is, he's not someone Campbell wants to get on the bad side of.”

“Do you think Campbell is working with him -- burning evidence that points to previous business transactions?”

Martin shook his head, flipping through the book again. “No, no, I'm certain Campbell does it out of fear -- or, to protect Burrows. Campbell is interested in the occult so in a twisted way, Daud is a competitor and not to be trusted.”

“A competitor?” Corvo asked, his head tilting curiously. Martin just gestured nonchalantly to Corvo's left hand.

“Yes, for the Outsider's favor,” Martin told him. “Campbell's been obsessed for years. I'm hoping his journal will confirm what I've already suspected; that Campbell met the Outsider once but walked away from the encounter with no favor. Since then, he's collected quite the collection of charms and runes in a bid to understand the god of the Void better.”

“I did find more than one artifact in his chambers while I was gathering information,” Corvo mused, thinking of the locked vault he had snuck into and ransacked for his own devices. “So this does add up. And it's plenty to incriminate Campbell when the time comes.”

“Oh it's only the waterspout of the whale, Corvo,” Martin drawled easily, his grin still eager and triumphant. “Such as how he enjoys slipping away to the Golden Cat every Tuesday to practice his wandering gaze and wanton flesh.” He laughed as Corvo grimaced at the thought.

“How do you know all of this, anyway?” Corvo growled out, apprehensive of the answer. Martin just shrugged and smiled.

“I wasn't always an Overseer, and I didn't join via the conventional means of being hand picked as a good boy candidate.” He flipped to a page idly, scanning the contents. “I have so many reasons to want to see Campbell kicked off his high horse, most of them my own. Perhaps one day I'll tell you why but for now, just know it gives me great pleasure to be able to bring about the High.Overseer’s downfall.”

Corvo went silent, chewing over all that Martin had provided. He didn't know how much of it he could believe, or what was even worth remembering. He didn't care about Campbell, not like Martin did. With or without the knowledge of his occult obsession, Campbell was now a dead man walking. But what Martin had said about Daud, how even Campbell seemed to fear his wrath… those were facts worth remembering.

“Speaking of the Golden Cat…” Martin added, almost as an afterthought. He trailed off, prompting Corvo’s attention again. “They say half the girls who end up there are dropped off by nobles who need to cover up getting a pretty tramp pregnant on Fugue and soiling the family blood with unwanted heirs. Nobody believes a whore when she's forced to work in prostitution.”

Corvo's brow furrowed. “That is a popular rumor, yes, but I'm not sure what it has to do with anythi--”

“There's also a rumor that Burrows has strong connections with the Golden Cat--” Martin said, a little more forcefully. “--and that he's visited the establishment more frequently than usual since the Empress died. Some say it's for stress relief, with the young Emily missing, and all.”

Corvo stared at him, his mouth snapping shut.

“It's just a rumor, of course,” Martin finished, casually shrugging. “Could be nothing.”

Martin raised his eyebrows at Corvo and the gravity of his words finally hit him like a brick.