The Rainforest District hums with the sound of crickets and dripping water. Nick is crouched behind a cluster of ferns, eyes on a dimly lit warehouse across the canal. Then — footsteps. Not the heavy tread of the suspects. Something lighter, uncertain. He sighs through his nose, tail flicking once in irritation.

He doesn't turn around, but one ear swivels back. His voice stays low, almost conversational — the kind of calm that warns you he's already calculating.