The Grooming Salon was located in the upper levels of the Scratching Post Tower. It was a humid, deafening place filled with the sound of rushing water and the roar of blow-dryers.
It smelled of lavender mist, wet fur, and industrial-strength sanitizer—a scent that was supposed to be clean but just smelled like a cover-up.
"Strip," a voice commanded.
Noah stood before a changing screen. He removed his grey jumpsuit, folding it neatly. He felt exposed, vulnerable. Without the uniform, he was just a man—scrawny, pale, covered in old scars and fresh bruises.
He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out.
"Tub Three," the attendant said. She was a Persian cat with fur so white it looked like a cloud. She wore a plastic apron and held a sponge that looked suspiciously like a giant, rough tongue.
Noah climbed into the tub. The water was hot. Too hot.
"I am Duchess Fluffbottom," the Persian announced. "And you are filthy. Where have you been rolling? The Rainy Docks? The Dumpster District?"
"Just... playing, ma'am," Noah stammered.
"Disgusting," she muttered, scrubbing his back with abrasive force. "Mr. Purr-sident expects his collection to be pristine. We cannot have you smelling like reality. Reality smells like mold."
As she worked, another Persian approached the neighboring tub, where Rex was being hosed down, barking happily at the water spray.
"Did you hear about the incident in the White Zone?" the second Persian asked Duchess Fluffbottom.
The Duchess paused her scrubbing. "The Code Blue? Yes. Terrible business. It upset the vibes of the entire floor. The negative energy is ruining my coat."
"They say the Little One is restless," the second cat whispered, leaning in.
Noah froze. The water in the tub suddenly felt ice cold. He forced himself to breathe evenly, to keep his muscles loose so the cats wouldn't notice his tension.
"The Little One?" Fluffbottom asked. "The special guest in the Tower Penthouse?"
"Yes. She keeps asking for her things. Screaming for them, actually. It's ruining the feng shui of the Executive Suite. The Purr-sident is furious."
"What does she want now?"
"A bow," the second cat sighed. "A silly little hair bow. She says she can't go to the 'party' without it. As if we're having a party. We're having a crisis!"
Noah's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. Katy.
It had to be her. The "Little One." The "Special Guest." She wasn't just in the city; she was in the Tower. She was close. And she was asking for a hair bow.
Image 6 on the list, Noah thought. The Hair Bow.
"Where is this bow?" Fluffbottom asked, scrubbing Noah's neck.
"Lost Property," the other cat replied. "Down in the basement of the Bureaucracy. The Magpie Jays stole it weeks ago. Nobody wants to go down there to fetch it. Those birds are vicious bureaucrats."
"Well, she'll just have to cry then," Fluffbottom sniffed. "I'm not risking my blow-dry for a hair accessory."
Noah closed his eyes. Lost Property. Basement. Magpie Jays.
He had his next destination. And this time, he wasn't going to fail.