This is it, I told myself as I exited the cab.

  The driver barely gave me a nod as I tapped my debit card against the taxi's payment system. He was probably hoping to be paid in cash so he could use it immediately rather than waiting for it to process through the banks.

  I stood there after the cab pulled away, letting the city noise wash over me while I got my bearings. Today was the day. I’d graduated near the top of my academy class, and I was one of the few recruits offered a direct placement in homicide.

  The main entrance doors slid open on their auto tracks as I approached. I tried to steady myself, to keep the nerves from showing. Tried being the operative word. My ears twitched despite my best efforts, and my tail swayed behind me in short, restless movements. My breathing came fast and shallow as I forced myself forward.

  A young woman, probably in her mid 20's, looked up from her computer, not hiding her surprise. I mean, it's not every day that a man with dog ears and a matching tail wanders into a police station wearing a suit. I wasn't given any instructions on what to wear on the first day, but I figured a nice pair of pants, button down shirt, and open suit jacket wouldn't be seen as too much.

  "C-can I help you sir?"

  I offered what I hoped passed for a friendly smile. “Alan Messer. I was told to report to the main desk when I arrived.”

  Her fingers typed out a few shorthand commands on her computer before looking it over, "Ah yes. You're the new hybrid that homicide accepted."

  I made no attempts to hide my irritation at being referred to as just a hybrid. It wasn't my fault that crosses between humans and anthros were uncommon, or that they were seen as bizarre.

  "Look, can you just tell me where to go?" I made sure my tone did the stinging for me.

  She apparently got the hint and pointed toward a staircase in the back corner, "Up there."

  I thanked her anyway and took the visitor’s badge she slid across the counter. At the top of the stairs, a uniformed officer stopped me, holding out a hand for my ID. He scanned it without looking up.

  “Alan Messer. Age twenty-four. Height six-two. Weight one-ninety-five.” He paused, then did a double take when he finally noticed my hybrid status on the card. “Hybrid specifics. Which parent is which.”

  "Is that necessary?" I asked.

  He didn’t blink. “You want the badge or not, kid?”

  I sighed and spoke plainly, "Human and German Shepherd. Human father with an anthro mother."

  He waved me through without comment and told me to sit.

  Waiting was worse than I expected. Time dragged, each second stretching thin while people pretended not to stare. Some did a better job than others.

  Dad was right, I thought to myself.

  Dad had been proud of my graduating from the academy, but he also had made it clear that there were people in the precinct who would push back against making a hybrid a detective. Anthros might be legally equal to humans, but the reality was messier. Different IDs. Different expectations. A long list of things you weren’t supposed to talk about or acknowledge. Humans romancing anthros topped that list, though it obviously still happened.

  Nobody had said anything directly, but their faces spoke it all the same. By the time a senior officer came to collect me, I'd been given my badge and issued my service weapon. My nerves were more on edge than ever.

  "Messer? Come with me. I have some questions to go over before we reach the bullpen,” He said when I stood to follow him.

  Great, that means more digging into my personal life. “Ask away sir.”

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  He flipped open a notepad as we walked, pen already in hand. “How’s your home life? Parents still together?”

  The connecting hallways were filled with pictures ranging from officers accepting awards to memorials for those who fell in the line of duty. The faces seemed to go on forever in a never-ending line.

  I didn’t understand why he was asking such things, “And what do those questions have to do with being a detective?”

  “Look kid, either answer the questions or look for a different career.”

  Maybe I should if you people are going to treat me like this from the start

  “Most mixed relationships don’t last,” I said carefully. “Especially after a hybrid is born, but my parents are still together, and home life is about as normal as suburban living gets.”

  “A mixed relationship lasting over 20 years? Well you see something new every day.”

  I bit back a response as we stopped outside a medium-sized room. He knocked once on the open door, "Calder, Look alive! Got some fresh meat for you to season up."

  A woman in her late thirties looked up and approached. Her skin was dark with obsidian black hair pulled into a short ponytail. She sized me up in a single glance.

  “I’ll leave him to you,” the officer said, already turning away.

  “So,” she said, her voice smooth and almost amused, “you’re the pup they saddled us with. They issue you a collar to go with the badge?”

  And she's just like the rest. “It’s Alan Messer,” I said evenly. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me pup.”

  She gave a disarming smile, “Relax I'm just hazing you a little rookie. I've never worked with an anthro or a hybrid before. Names Rayna Calder. I'm one of the senior detectives they like to stick the newbies with.”

  I couldn't tell if she was being sincere or not, so I let the poor attempt at a joke go.

  She gave me another look up and down before motioning for me to follow her past the common area, “Before we go back there, you need to know the rules. Rule 1, never take anything personally. Rule 2, they will make jokes. They will try to get a rise out of you. Don't let them.”

  I nodded my understanding and she led me past the doors into the main “bullpen”.

  The noise hit first. Phones were ringing, voices overlapping, chairs scraping across the floor. It was busy in the way only a police unit could be, half chaos and half routine. Nobody looked surprised to be there.

  They did, however, look surprised to see me. It wasn’t dramatic, though. No one stopped talking outright. Conversations just dipped, like a radio signal losing clarity for half a second.

  “Did K-9 lose one?” someone said.

  A few desks down, another voice answered, “Nah. That one’s wearing a suit.”

  A quiet chuckle followed.

  I kept my eyes forward and matched Calder’s pace. My ears twitched before I could stop them. I made myself slow my breathing.

  Calder didn’t even slow down. “If you’ve got jokes, Connelly, make sure they’re good enough to put on your tombstone.”

  The man instantly closed his mouth, and nobody else spoke up.

  As we moved on, Calder leaned closer, her voice low. “See? Efficient.”

  I kept my eyes forward. “Thanks.”

  “I didn’t do it for you,” she said. “I did it because I hate noise.”

  She led me toward the back row of desks, the kind of area that screamed unwanted hire, with cheap chairs, bad lighting, and a printer that sounded like it was dying every time it worked.

  “This is yours.” She slapped a hand onto a desk that had a half-broken drawer and a monitor with a scratch across the screen. “Congratulations.”

  I set my visitor badge on the desk before realizing I didn’t need it anymore. I had a real one now. The weight of that hadn’t quite settled.

  Calder leaned against the neighboring desk, folding her arms. “Listen carefully.”

  I looked up after hanging my jacket on the back of my chair.

  “You don’t touch evidence unless I tell you to and you don’t tell me what you're smelling or hearing unless I ask.”

  I felt my tail twitch, annoyed, then forced it still again. “So I’m supposed to be a detective with my hands tied.”

  “You’re a test. If you eventually want to see a full anthro sitting up here, you do as you're told,” Calder said. “Welcome to homicide.”

  Before I could respond, a phone rang nearby. It was a sharp, urgent ring that didn’t belong to personal calls or casual complaints. Calder’s posture changed immediately. She straightened and turned toward the sound.

  A uniformed officer approached, holding a slip of paper. “Detective Calder. Possible homicide. Warehouse district. Patrol’s already on scene.”

  Calder took the paper and scanned it. Then she looked at me.

  “Well,” she said, deadpan, “guess it’s time to leash up.”

  I stiffened before I could stop myself.

  She flashed that disarming smile again, “Sorry I couldn't help myself,” then grew serious again, “Let's move Messer. Badge, gun, coat now.”