The office smelled of ink, old paper, and disinfectant—exactly how Deshico liked it.

Books, diagrams, and research notes crowded every surface, organized in a way only he could understand. The skunk adjusted his reading glasses and glanced over a notebook already filled with observations and theories.

Interviews were always interesting. Rarely predictable.

His tail swayed lazily as he leaned back, eyes drifting to the empty chair across from his desk. Hybrid research had become a scientific and political minefield in recent years—which only made it more fascinating.

“Curious creatures, hybrids,” he mused, pen tapping lightly against the page. “Two instincts sharing the same bones. Evolution writes strange poetry.”

A small smile tugged at his muzzle. Most visitors arrived carrying questions about him as much as his work. Deshico had learned to live with that.

“Well then,” he said warmly, pen poised to write. “Let’s see what we're discovering today.”