Ugh... everything felt so dizzy.

Seth groaned softly under his breath, his head slumping forward for a moment as he fought to gather his bearings. His temples throbbed, each heartbeat pulsing behind his eyes like a dull hammer, and when he tried to lift his head, a sharp spike of pain stabbed through his skull.

Focus, Seth. Focus.

His senses were returning slowly, sluggishly crawling back to life. Those cat ears, more attuned than any human's, flicked and swiveled without conscious thought. They caught the low hum of old fluorescent lights above, the faint drip of water echoing from somewhere nearby, the scuff of footsteps just beyond his line of vision.

Blinking slowly, his eyelids fluttered open. The room came into blurry focus bit by bit, the shapes sharpening to reveal a dimly lit, cramped space with cracked walls and a stale, musty odor that made his nose wrinkle.

But what really set his senses on high alert was the figure leaning casually near the far wall, dressed in that distinct, trashy-but-tough streetwear. Seth's eyes narrowed. His pulse, which had only just started to slow, jumped again. The insignia stitched into the jacket, the colors, the posture.

Mountain Lion Gang.

Suddenly, the pain behind Seth's eyes didn't matter. The fog in his mind burned away in an instant, replaced with sharp adrenaline. Everything came rushing back at once. He had been tailing a lead. A tip-off. He'd followed a suspect down into the Hollow-bordering district alone, like an idiot, thinking he was being smart. And then—bam! A flash of movement, pain exploding at the back of his head, then nothing.

And now...

"You—" Seth growled, suddenly lurching forward in his seat, only to stop with a sharp jolt. Thick restraints bit into his wrists and ankles, holding him firm against the uncomfortable metal chair. His body strained instinctively, muscles tensing, but the bindings didn't budge. He twisted his wrists, clenching his fists and testing for any give. Nothing. Just the cold bite of reinforced cuffs.

"Hey! Untie me!" His voice rose in desperation, but he paused his words when he noticed an unfamiliar weight pressing against his face. Looking down, his head tilted awkwardly as he finally registered the restraint that had been fastened tightly around his jaw. A cold metal bar stretched across his mouth, secured by stiff leather straps wrapped around his neck.

A... muzzle? Seriously?

He was a feline thiren, not a damn mutt!

The muzzle didn't hurt, exactly, but it was humiliating. It wasn't like he had fangs the size of knives. He was a trained officer of PubSec, not some animal to be caged. More insulted than anything else, Seth let out an indignant huff through his nose.

The muzzle didn't entirely silence him, but it certainly muffled his voice, and made every breath feel exaggeratedly labored. "Is... is this really necessary?" he asked, his voice muffled but still laced with indignation. His brows furrowed deeply as he tried to glare with dignity, which was hard when he had literal metal over his face.

Seth shifted in the chair with a rough jerk, his tail lashing behind him in sharp, agitated sweeps. The thick fur puffed up with indignation, but all he could do was glower at the figure still watching him like this was some kind of show.