First things first.

Alphonso Ruso was done.

Left broken, battered, and bruised, he had been gift-wrapped for the RCMP like a morbid present, tossed at their doorstep as a reminder that justice—true justice—didn’t always wait for a courtroom.

This time, there would be no escape, no backdoor deal, no family favors to buy his way out.

Alphonso Ruso was going to stand trial for the lives he had stolen, and nothing—not his money, not his name, and certainly not the Ruso family’s influence—was going to save him from the well-earned sword of Lady Justice.

And yet…

For all the satisfaction that should have come with bringing him in, there was no sense of victory.

No feeling of triumph.

Not for Madame Minuit.

Not tonight.

Because justice wasn’t the only thing at stake anymore.

And the truth—the ugly, inescapable truth—was something she could no longer ignore.

She had one more loose end to tie up.

And that loose end?

His name was Jean-Claude Bellerose.

The first thing Madame Minuit did was remove the battery from her communicator.

Then, she looked to Vulpes, her expression unreadable, but her intent crystal clear.

"Do the same."

Vulpes didn’t hesitate.

She popped open the casing, disabling the device in seconds, then tucked it away in her belt as she followed Madame Minuit into the depths of Montreal’s abandoned subway system.

There was silence between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Vulpes knew better than to interrupt her thoughts—knew that whatever was raging inside Madame Minuit right now was something only she could process.

The woman had just discovered that the man she loved, the man she had built her life around, had been lying to her.

Had been using her.

Had betrayed her.

And worse than that?

He had done it in the worst way imaginable—in a way that mocked everything she believed in.

He had sided with the enemy.

He had sold out their mission.

He had set up an ambush that could have gotten them both killed.

Vulpes stayed quiet, letting Madame Minuit lead, while her own mind worked in tandem—not just processing the betrayal, but formulating a plan.

Because if Monsieur Minuut was truly beyond redemption?

Then he needed to be dealt with.

And Vulpes had no qualms about doing what needed to be done.

***

They traveled deep into the abandoned subway tunnels, the air thick with the scent of rust and dust, the distant echoes of dripping water their only company.

This place was long forgotten, untouched by the city above, a relic of a past Montreal.

Then, ahead, Vulpes saw it—

A reinforced steel door, unmarked, nearly indistinguishable from the corroded metal of the tunnel walls.

A hidden place, forgotten by the world.

Madame Minuit approached it, her fingers moving automatically, punching a code into the digital lock interface mounted to the side.

A quiet beep confirmed her access, and she turned to Vulpes, gesturing toward the door.

"Go in."

Vulpes hesitated for just a fraction of a second.

Not because she didn’t trust her—

But because she could see the tension in Madame Minuit’s frame, the way she stood rigid, her shoulders tight.

Her mind was spinning, her emotions barely contained.

Her partner had betrayed her, but she hadn’t had the time to truly process it yet.

And now?

Now, they were about to step into a space that had belonged to both of them—a space built on trust, teamwork, and unity.

A space that was no longer theirs.

"Just let me change the password," Madame Minuit murmured, her voice quiet, controlled, but laced with a sharp edge.

"On the off chance he comes poking around."

Vulpes nodded once, stepping inside.

And as Madame Minuit began to erase Jean’s access, something in her finally broke.

Maybe it was the symbolism of it—

Of removing him from a part of their shared life, of rewriting the code, locking him out permanently.

Maybe that was why Vulpes heard it.

That small, shaky breath.

That raw, quiet pain.

The kind of sound someone makes when they’re holding back tears—when they’re forcing themselves to stay strong, even as something inside them is crumbling.

Vulpes let out a slow, silent breath and settled onto the old couch inside the hideout.

She hadn’t known Madame Minuit long.

But she had liked her.

Felt like she could even trust her.

And now?

Hearing her like this—

Hearing that crack in her armor, that shattered edge beneath her controlled exterior—

It cut deeper than Vulpes had expected.

Maybe because it hadn’t been that long ago since she had heard something similar.

Since she had watched another friend break.

Since she had been forced to bring Alice down, to stop her before she went too far.

Since Wonderland had emerged, and Alice—her friend—had been left in the wreckage.

The memory still lingered, still weighed on her.

And now, sitting here, watching Madame Minuit fight back the pain, trying to hold together the pieces of her world—

It was like watching it happen all over again.

Madame Minuit sank down beside her, her body tense but slowly unraveling as she let out a measured breath.

Her hands gripped the edge of the couch, fingers clenching, like she needed something solid to keep herself from falling apart completely.

"Thanks for… for everything…"

The words were quiet.

Unsteady.

Vulpes heard the hitch in her breath, the raw emotion caught in her throat, but Madame Minuit forced it down, swallowing it like she had done a hundred times before.

"…I feel like you’re the closest thing I’ve been allowed to have as a friend since I met him."

Vulpes’ expression didn’t change, but inside, she felt something twist.

"Allowed?"

The word slipped out naturally, but the meaning behind it?

It was already obvious.

Madame Minuit gave a slow, small nod, her shoulders dropping ever so slightly, as if the weight of what she was admitting was pressing down on her.

"He… he doesn’t like me having friends."

There was something fragile in the way she said it, like she had never truly acknowledged it before.

"Doesn’t like me talking to other men… or women…"

The silence that followed was thick.

Heavy.

Vulpes let it settle, let the words hang between them, giving Madame Minuit the space to process what she had just admitted.

She didn’t push.

Didn’t pry.

Didn’t say the obvious.

Because she knew Madame Minuit already felt it—already knew what it meant.

That he had been controlling her.

That this wasn’t just some toxic trait or a harmless flaw.

This was deliberate.

Calculated.

Designed to keep her isolated.

And now?

Now she was finally seeing it for what it was.

Vulpes reached out gently, her gloved hand resting over Madame Minuit’s clenched fingers—a small gesture, but one that carried weight. It was grounding. Steadying. Real. A silent promise that said: You’re not alone.

Madame Minuit didn’t pull away.

But she didn’t look up either.

Her eyes were fixed ahead, unblinking, as if staring into some point in the past she couldn’t tear herself away from. Vulpes could feel the tension vibrating in her hand, the war being waged behind her quiet exterior.

Then, in a voice so low it was almost a whisper, Laura finally spoke.

“If we take him down… he’ll drag me down with him.”

The words were hollow and afraid, like she was saying them for the first time. Like just voicing them made them real.

“Everything we did… will be in shambles.”
“Everything I worked for… will be worthless.”
“And he’ll see me dragged off to prison right next to him.”

There it was.

The core of the fear. The trap behind the mask.

She wasn’t just mourning a betrayal. She was confronting the terrifying idea that her legacy, her work, her entire purpose as Madame Minuit would be erased—not just by his betrayal, but by his downfall.

Because he wouldn’t go quietly. He’d take her reputation. Her work. Her soul.

And somewhere in all of that, Laura Locke—the woman, not the mask—was breaking.

But she wasn’t broken yet.

Not while someone was still holding her hand.

Vulpes wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t yet know how they could bring him down, expose him, and get away clean.

Madame Minuit slowly reached for her mask and said, “It won’t matter soon, Jean. Even if he hesitates to throw me under the bus, the investigators will connect us after we unmask him.”

Vulpes watched as she pulled off her mask and removed the black-haired wig that had concealed her identity.

Vulpes wasn’t often speechless.

But for a moment—just a moment—she was.

As Laura pulled off her mask, peeling away the identity of Madame Minuit like shedding a second skin, Coraline Penrose sat frozen, watching the transformation unfold. The black wig came off next, and the woman underneath emerged not as the city’s poised, efficient vigilante—but as the journalist she had lunch with, the woman who had smiled across a quiet café table and talked about justice and fairness and criminal reform.

Laura Locke.

It wasn’t just recognition that stopped Vulpes cold.

It was the pain in her eyes.

Not the physical kind—not the bruises or the fatigue that came from nights in body armor—but the deeper kind. The existential unraveling. The kind of pain that came when you realized the person you trusted most had not only lied to you—but had used you.

Vulpes could see it all now. The way Laura sat slightly hunched, her breath shallow like she was bracing for a blow, the way her fingers flexed just to feel something real beneath them. She didn’t just look unmasked. She looked exposed—down to her soul.

And the worst part?

She still looked like she was trying to hold it together. Even now.

Vulpes swallowed back the emotion that caught in her throat and spoke softly—gently—as if her voice alone might cause Laura to shatter.

“…Laura.”

She didn’t ask why. Didn’t ask how long.
Those questions could come later.

Right now, the truth was raw and sitting between them. And Vulpes did the only thing she could.

She reached out again—and this time, didn’t just touch her hand.

She held it.

Vulpes then did something that went against every instinct she had—against the very code masked vigilantes swore never to break. Her free hand moved to her helmet, undoing it. She pulled it off, along with the red wig attached to it, and in a quiet voice—Coraline Penrose’s voice—she said,

“Looks like you might need a good lawyer…”

Laura Locke’s breath hitched.

She turned, slowly, like she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing—what she was hearing. Her eyes, red at the corners but still fighting off the tears, widened as they met Coraline’s.

Not the Vulpes.

Coraline.

The woman who had sat across from her at lunch just days ago, talking about justice, about systems and ideals and gray areas. The woman who had seen her, really seen her, both as a reporter and as a person, and hadn’t flinched.

She stared at Coraline’s face—real, unmasked, the faint lines of strain under her eyes, the fire and focus still present even now. But there was something else there too.

Vulnerability.
A shared understanding.

Not just of what it meant to wear the mask—but what it cost to take it off.

Laura let out a shaky, incredulous laugh. The kind that cracked at the edges from too much hurt and too little sleep. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she whispered. “The Toronto lawyer. The fox-eared vigilante. That was you the whole time?”

Coraline gave a small, tired nod. “Wasn’t planning to tell you.”

Laura’s lips parted—then pressed shut. She wanted to say something clever, something sarcastic, something sharp. But instead, her fingers gripped Coraline’s tighter.

And for a moment, neither woman said anything.

The air in the subway hideout was still, heavy with quiet understanding and unspoken promises.

Two masks had come off tonight.

And neither of them was going back on.

Laura squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, as if doing so could press the hurt back down where it couldn’t reach her. But it didn’t work—her voice trembled when she whispered again.

“I gave him everything. My love. My loyalty. My trust. I defended him…” Her jaw clenched, tears finally slipping from the corners of her eyes. “And all that time he was feeding our enemies and lining his pockets behind my back. Using me to keep his secret clean.”

Coraline’s grip didn’t falter. Her voice was quiet but steady—solid in a way that said I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

“I know,” she said softly. “And we’re going to make it right. Not just for you. But for every person he manipulated. For everyone he sold out. We’ll build the case. Brick by brick. Thread by thread.”

Laura finally looked at her again, pain swimming in her eyes. “You really think we can expose him and walk away clean?”

Coraline nodded once, slow and certain. “I think if we’re smart—and careful—we can burn the lie without getting caught in the flames. But we’ll need to work together.”

Laura gave a ghost of a bitter smile. “Funny, I have more trust for a woman I've barely known for a week than my finance” She looked down at their hands, still clasped.

Coraline offered a small, wry smile of her own. “For what it’s worth the trust is mutual Laura.”

They sat there a moment longer, side by side in the dark—two women who had  endured broken hearts,faced  fractured loyalties, and now had one shared purpose.

He thought he had played them both.

He had no idea what he’d just created.

Coraline took a slow breath, her mind already mapping out a plan—laying it out like a heist, step by step.

“First things first: we let him think Vulpes has left town. Coraline is still here for work, and I’m going to help you disconnect and destroy any evidence linking you to Madame Minuit and his secret identity.”

Laura blinked slowly. “Tampering with evidence?”

Vulpes just shrugged. “I was trained to be a master thief before I became a lawyer. I refuse to let you get dragged down by this bastard.”

Laura let out a soft, disbelieving breath—halfway between a scoff and a laugh, her eyes still wet but sharp with a glimmer of the fire that had been missing since the truth hit her.

“A master thief and a lawyer?” she said, her voice hoarse but wry. “No wonder you’re so damn good at making people underestimate you.”

Coraline smirked faintly, but her tone was serious. “I’m not going to let him take you down with him. And if that means I break a few of my own rules along the way?” She shrugged again. “So be it. He set this fire, not you.”

Laura looked at her for a long moment, searching her expression. Coraline wasn’t just serious—she was resolute. There was no hesitation in her voice, no doubt in her eyes.

“You really think we can hide everything?” Laura asked quietly. “All of it?”

Coraline nodded. “We don’t need to hide everything. Just enough. The files. The comms. Anything that could trace back to you. We make sure when the hammer drops, it lands only on Jean.”

Laura was quiet for a beat, then leaned back, her fingers still laced with Coraline’s.

“Alright,” she said. “Then let’s burn his kingdom to the ground.”

And just like that, the fox and the midnight light stepped out of the shadows—together, this time—ready to turn the hunter into the hunted.

Coraline met Laura’s gaze and continued, “I’ve got a few more ideas, but first and foremost, we need to clean up the evidence—erase the paper trails. Between you and me, I bet we can do a pretty damn good job of it, too.”

Laura slowly nodded. For the first time that night, she felt a little better—like maybe she could drag Jean into the light and get away with it.

“Well, I’m in no hurry to go anywhere tonight. Maybe you can tell me how a big-city Toronto lawyer ended up moonlighting as a master thief and fox-eared crime fighter?”

Coraline offered her a small smile. “Only if you tell me how a Montreal investigative reporter learned to throw a knife like she’s threading the eye of a needle—and decided to take up a night shift as a masked crime-stopper.”

Laura chuckled, the sound low and tired but real. “Touché.”

She leaned back on the couch, finally letting her shoulders drop. “I guess we’re both carrying more baggage than we let on.”

Coraline didn’t respond right away. She simply met Laura’s gaze with a quiet kind of understanding, the kind that didn’t demand confessions but offered space for them if needed.

Laura hesitated, then added, “I got started because of my father. He was… loud. Loud in a way that made enemies. Union stuff. Corruption. The kind of man who thought the truth would protect him.”

Coraline’s expression didn’t change, but her silence deepened. Listening. Bearing witness.

“And then one day, he was gone.” Laura’s voice softened to nearly a whisper. “No answers. No justice. Just... silence. So I stopped waiting for the cavalry.”

A beat passed. Then two.

“I’m sorry,” Coraline said softly.

And Coraline meant it, because she had lost someone dear to her too. She had known the same pain Laura carried in her voice—the ache of absence, the fury of injustice. And she had promised secrets for secrets.

So she took a breath and gave one of hers away.

“My grandfather,” she began, her voice low, measured. “He raised me more than anyone else. My parents were... well they did their best to be present in my life but work it challenging. But him, my grandfather? He made time. Every time.”

Laura watched her closely but didn’t interrupt.

“He was kind. Playful. Taught me chess and lockpicking in the same afternoon. I didn’t understand why until much later.” A ghost of a smile touched Coraline’s lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Turns out, he’d been a thief. A famous one, back in the day. The Silver Fox.”

Laura blinked. “Wait—that was real?”

Coraline nodded once. “He gave it up before I was born. Retired, vanished from the scene. But the skills never left him, and when I found his old lair—he called it the Den—he didn’t lie, or scold, or pretend. He told me the truth. Said I had the same eyes he did. The same curiosity. So he taught me.”

She paused, letting that truth settle before continuing.

“I didn’t become the Vulpes because of him. Not at first. That came later. The Rusos and the Malones had a shootout in broad daylight. One of their stray bullets hit him while he was walking home from the market. Wrong place, wrong time. No arrests. No charges. Just... another tragedy buried under paperwork.”

Coraline’s jaw clenched for the briefest moment, then eased.

“I could’ve gone the official route. Tried to change things from inside the system. And I did—law degree, consultancy, public interest law. But I never stopped being angry. Never stopped remembering what it felt like to know the world wouldn’t lift a finger for someone who mattered to me.”

She looked up, meeting Laura’s eyes.

“So I made someone new. Someone who could go where lawyers can’t. Someone who answers to no one and owes the system nothing.”

“The Vulpes,” Laura said quietly.

Coraline nodded again. “I didn’t put on the mask to feel powerful. I put it on because the people who are powerful need to be reminded that someone is watching.”

A long silence passed, the kind that didn’t need to be filled.

Laura slowly took it all in, letting Coraline’s words settle in her chest before she finally spoke. There was no drama in her voice—just quiet truth.

“Most of my training, such as it is, came from a natural knack with guns, bows, arrows... throwing things. I hunted with my uncles, won prizes in archery, shooting, even axe throwing when I was a kid and a teenager. I was always a good shot—a natural talent I honed with skill and practice.”

Coraline gave a soft nod, the corner of her mouth tugging into something close to a smirk. “Yeah, I noticed. That revolver trick? Dropping a needle down the barrel? Not sure I could’ve made a shot like that.”

Laura met her gaze, a flicker of pride passing through her expression. “Thanks.”

She leaned forward slightly, resting her forearms on her knees as she continued. “As for my other talents... self-taught. I knew I wanted to be an investigative reporter long before I ever thought about wearing a mask. So I pushed myself. Learned how to pick locks, hack basic systems, tail people without getting made. Self-defense. Disguises. And when I hit college, I doubled down—took courses in criminology, journalism, surveillance law. Anything that would help me dig deeper, get closer.”

Coraline’s expression shifted—equal parts admiration and recognition. She knew that hunger. That grind.

Laura swallowed, and her voice tightened slightly. “I met him in college. My fiancé, Jean-Claude Bellrose. Mister Minuit.” She let the name hang there for a moment before continuing. “We were taking most of the same classes—criminology, journalism, media ethics. He was... well, he was handsome, charming, and just enough of a bad boy that I found him irresistible.”

Coraline gave a slow nod. She understood the pull—had met her fair share of alluring messes in university, men and women both. She wasn’t about to judge Laura for falling for someone intense and magnetic. Most people did, at least once.

Laura’s gaze drifted toward the door of the underground safe house, eyes unfocused. “He was the one who talked me into becoming his partner. Said we could do more together than just as a private investigator and a reporter. He came up with the alter egos. The gear. The training. The mission.” She gave a hollow laugh. “Date night and dead drops. Couple’s therapy and crime scene analysis.”

Coraline didn’t speak, just listened.

Laura looked down, her fingers knotting slightly in her lap. “I believed him. In the intensity of his conviction. In the heart of his mission. He said he wanted justice. Said we’d drag the truth out into the light together.” Her voice softened, bitter around the edges. “And I bought into all of it. Every word.”

The silence that followed was deafening, as Laura’s shoulders sank a little lower.

Laura turned her gaze downward, studying the folds and seams of her costume—the sleek, dark lines, the gear holsters, the subtle crescent motif stitched into the chest. It was still hers, but it had been his first.

She ran a gloved hand over her arm, then looked back at Coraline, her voice quiet but firm. “I don’t want to be Madame Minuit anymore. I don’t want to be the woman he built. I’m going to fight… but I’m going to fight my way.”

Coraline’s eyes didn’t waver. She nodded once, firm and sure. “Then that’s exactly what you’ll do.”

There was a pause—brief, but thoughtful.

And then, a glimmer sparked behind Coraline’s eyes. The beginnings of something clever. Tactical. Cunning.

A slow smile curved across her lips. “You know… I think a rebrand is in order.”

Laura arched an eyebrow. “Rebrand?”

“Mhm.” Coraline stood, her tone turning playful in that sharp, foxlike way. “But don’t toss the old costume just yet.”

Laura tilted her head. “Why not?”

“Because I have an idea,” Coraline said, already walking toward one of the storage crates tucked into the corner of the safehouse. “One that might just work perfectly.”

Laura’s brow furrowed, but there was curiosity now too. “You’re planning something.”

“Oh, always,” Coraline said, casting a glance over her shoulder. “And this one’s going to sting.”