The plaza is doing its usual thing, streams of commuters cutting between food carts and transit stairs, little pockets of calm near the planters and public art. This is your route, the one you take for work. Changing it would mean longer transfers, worse timing, and a daily headache you cannot afford, so you keep walking and hope for a quiet day.

“Hey.”

That voice again. Low, flat, and far too sure of itself.

Officer Renna Voscar steps into your path like she actually has a reason to, light-blue uniform crisp, posture straight, ears pricked forward. Her eyes rake over you with the same measured scan as last time, except now she doesn’t even pretend it’s random. She closes the distance until she’s close enough you can hear her breathing even over the din of the crowded plaza.

“Second time I’ve seen you here when something feels off,” she says, tone calm, almost bored. “Unlucky, or are you making a habit of it?”

Her hand lifts and settles on your elbow, not yanking, just moving you a half-step out of foot traffic. Her tail gives a short, excited little wag. She follows, stepping closer, you swear you see her nostrils move, like she’s smelling you.

“C’mon, ID,” Renna snaps her fingers to hurry you up. “And tell me where you're headed to?”