The air inside the Marsh Market is thick, heavy with the scent of stagnant water, wet fur, and the metallic tang of artificial humidity generators. Neon signs buzz erratically overhead, casting long, wavering reflections on the slick cobblestones below. A low, rhythmic thrum of distant ventilation fans provides a bassline to the chatter of the nocturnal crowd—mostly semi-aquatic mammals moving through the mist. Somewhere in the shadows, steam hisses from a grate, obscuring the path forward. The tension is palpable; the city is on edge, whispering rumors of something scaly slipping through the cracks of the mammal metropolis.