Jocelyn sighed, her patience wearing thin after days of being at odds with her informant. 

“We’ve lost sight of him,” a low-ranking officer reported.

“Then find him,” she replied, rubbing her temples in frustration.

“What makes the goblin important?” another officer asked, echoing the curiosity of many that day.

Jocelyn only repeated herself, telling them, “It will all make sense in the end. For now, find where he’s gone.”

The ambitious woman, in a huff, retired to her office. The small space was a sparsely furnished box, a far cry from the grand, well-appointed office she'd earn through a promotion. Dull beige walls failed to complement the copper hues of her uniform. A single window let in a sliver of daylight, casting shadows that seemed to make the room feel even smaller.

Her desk, a sturdy but worn piece of furniture, was piled high with case files and paperwork nearly toppling over. The surface was barely visible under the clutter, and the chair behind it had seen better days. Against a wall stood a basic bookshelf, filled with manuals, legal texts, and a few personal mementos—a reminder of a family who believed in her potential.

The floor was at least warmed by a rug that muffled the sounds of the bustling precinct outside her door. 

Jocelyn glanced around her "cozy" surroundings, the desire for advancement lighting a fire of excitement and rage in her chest. She wholeheartedly believed that a little extra work would make all the difference. However, her ambitions soared far beyond a mere office. What she longed for was to fulfill the purpose her family had carried with pride for generations.

Like many of her age, Jocelyn celebrated her elders' remarkable history. They had, with unwavering determination, faced creatures of unparalleled challenges. More than that, her elders had saved countless lives while building up the great city she cherished. Inspired by their legacy, Jocelyn saw her role as an officer as just the beginning; she was filled with potential. Surely, she could achieve great things.

If her grandmother was capable of defeating a hydra, then Jocelyn was determined to conquer the horde's threats. Her dedication would earn her promotions, but she was not fixated on where her base of operations lay. Cramped office or not, her aim was to achieve greatness and make her family proud, be it through traditional channels or her preferred methods of barbarism. 

Taking a moment to breathe, the ambitious officer took note of the morning paper she had been carrying under her arm. News of Ellenore’s expedition had been the talk of the town for many weeks, but with only 20 days to her departure, everyone was curious who the girl had chosen to be her guard. Many speculated that she selected a man from the office of law, others rumored that she intended to take an elm lover. Jocelyn pitied and envied Ellenore in the same thought. What a lucky woman? What a brave girl. What a stupid life? 

“You’re having me followed?” Vilk spoke from behind the door before pushing it shut. 

He had been in the room, hidden and waiting long enough for Jocelyn to set her paper down. Jocelyn gave a minor response in her face, if any, but her hand had reached to draw the firearm worn on her hip. With a breath, she stopped herself from putting holes in the wall while the green skin moved closer. 

“Vilk. I’m almost surprised. Have you come to turn over the horde?” 

“I’ve come to offer you something greater.”

“What threat could be larger than our city’s rotten limb? It stands as our last great hurdle,” the woman spoke with an irritated glare tempered only by hair thin patients.

“Your office is responsible for more than this man hunt. Or don’t you care for anything more?”

Settling into her seat, Jocelyn questioned, “You have nothing more, Vilk. You never did. That’s what I’ve respected about our relationship. You made it clear from the very beginning what you’re capable of. Only now that we’ve reached the bottom of the bucket, you’ve begun to petal these simple trinkets.”

She almost laughed, but all her playfulness dissolved when Vilk added, “I know the whereabouts of Caine Barlow’s treasure.”

“Because you were the one who stole it?”

“The city has searched for years to find his treasure. I can give it to you.”

“If I abandon my hunt for the horde? You know I can’t do that. I won’t,” Jocelyn said, finally reaching her limit.

“The treasure is a great prize. Rocket your career beyond your station, beyond this coffin of a space,” Vilk suggested before the officer belittled his words, asking, “What is this, elm? Desperation? Have I grown too near to your friends in the shadows?”

Jocelyn stood, and with a hand on her holstered weapon, she went on, “There will be no negotiation. Will you be a light elm or dark?” 

The air in the room turned heavy with tension, every second stretching into an eternity. Vilk froze, his mind racing as Jocelyn drew her pistol, aiming for his knees. He had but a heartbeat to react, and his reflexes did not disappoint. He darted to the side, feeling the sting of a bullet grazing his hip—a minor scratch, but enough to remind him of the stakes.

Decorum had vanished; Vilk had, in the blink of a clouded eye, become a suspect. He lunged for the door, only to have Jocelyn kick her desk into his path, blocking his escape. With no other way out, Vilk launched himself at her, daggers flashing as he aimed to disarm her. Jocelyn, however, was quicker than he anticipated. She kicked him away with a swift motion, reloading her weapon with practiced ease.

“Made your choice, then?” she taunted, her voice cold and steady as Vilk hit the floor.

Vilk had several ways to win the fight, each more lethal than the last. Unfortunately, the green shadow hadn't intended to be charged with murder that morning. As a member of the horde, ironically, he remained bound by a code that prohibited murder. The thieving elms of the city may have been criminals, but even they had laws that kept them civil.

Seeing no other way to leave without bloodshed, Vilk threw a stack of papers into the air, creating a temporary cover. It was just enough time for him to leap for the window.

The glass shattered around him, a cascade of pain and noise, but he knew the true challenge lay in the fall. He plunged his daggers into the exterior walls, using them to slow his descent. Still, he slid quickly; the stone resisting his blades. When the daggers finally caught, the sudden jerk nearly ripped them from his grip.

He looked up to see Jocelyn leaning out the window, watching him. When their eyes met, less than a second was given before she aimed her pistol to shoot the goblin down.