The first fire happened on Tuesday—a Wesen-owned dry cleaner in the industrial district, burned to the foundation before firefighters could respond.
The second fire happened Wednesday—a Fuchsbau restaurant that had sheltered refugees during the dock battle, reduced to ash and memory.
The third fire happened Thursday morning—an Eisbiber construction supply, the owner barely escaping with his life.
By Thursday afternoon, I was standing in the ruins with Monroe, reading patterns in the debris.
"Too hot." He crouched near what had been the building's center. "Normal fires don't burn like this. Look at the concrete—it's partially melted."
[FIRE ANALYSIS: ABNORMAL COMBUSTION PATTERN]
[TEMPERATURE ESTIMATE: 2000°F+ (SUSTAINED)]
[PROBABLE CAUSE: WESEN-GENERATED]
[SPECIES MATCH: DÄMONFEUER (87%) OR EXCANDESCO (13%)]
"Dämonfeuer." I spoke the word quietly. "Dragon Wesen. Fire-breathers."
"I've heard of them." Monroe stood, brushing ash from his hands. "Rare. Dangerous. Usually territorial loners."
"This one isn't acting territorial." I surveyed the destruction. "All three targets have something in common."
"They helped us during the Viktor confrontation."
"Someone's sending a message. Punishing Wesen who aligned with the Pack." I pulled out my phone, scrolling through the Mellifer network's latest intelligence. "But why use a Dämonfeuer? Viktor's people would use conventional methods."
"Unless they're not Viktor's people." Monroe's expression darkened. "The Verrat. They lost agents at the morgue, at the docks. This could be retaliation."
The Mellifer update confirmed Monroe's suspicion. Verrat operatives had been spotted in Portland two days ago—a small team, focused on intelligence gathering rather than direct action. They'd made contact with someone matching Dämonfeuer description.
"They've recruited a dragon." I pocketed the phone. "Or coerced one."
"Coerced how?"
"That's what we're going to find out."
The investigation led us through Portland's Wesen underground—contacts, rumors, whispered stories about a fire-breather who'd arrived months ago and kept to herself. Her name was Ariel Eberhart. Single mother. Former welder. Currently living in a converted garage near the industrial district.
We found her at dusk.
The garage was modest—reinforced walls, multiple fire extinguishers visible through the windows, the kind of precautions someone who breathed fire would naturally take. A child's bicycle sat in the yard, rust creeping along its frame.
I knocked. The door opened three inches, chain-locked, a woman's face visible in the gap.
"Whatever you're selling, I'm not—" She stopped. Her eyes found mine, registered the silver. "Grimm."
"Ariel Eberhart?"
She tried to slam the door. I caught it, held it open through pure Siegbarste strength.
"I'm not here to hurt you."
"That's what they all say." Her woge surfaced—scaled skin, elongated features, the terrible beauty of something designed to burn. Heat radiated from her body, scorching my hand where it gripped the door.
"The fires. The businesses that burned. You did that."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"The Verrat has your daughter."
The heat stopped. Ariel's woge receded, human features reasserting themselves over dragon scales. Her face held something worse than anger—desperation, exhaustion, the look of someone who'd been trapped for too long.
"How do you know about Sophie?"
"I'm the Grimm who killed two Reapers and drove Viktor out of Portland." I released the door, stepped back, showing empty hands. "I'm also the one who's going to help you get her back."
Ariel stared at me. The calculation in her eyes was visible—weighing risks, assessing threats, trying to find the trap.
"Why would a Grimm help me?"
"Because the Verrat is my enemy. Because your daughter is an innocent. And because—" I glanced at Monroe, who'd positioned himself to look non-threatening. "Because I'm building something different. A Portland where Wesen don't have to choose between obeying monsters or becoming them."
The silence stretched. Ariel's hand remained on the door, ready to slam it, ready to fight, ready for whatever violence might come.
"They took her three weeks ago." Her voice cracked. "Said I had to burn whatever they pointed at, or they'd cook her alive. Show them what Dämonfeuer flames feel like from the inside."
[INTELLIGENCE CONFIRMED: HOSTAGE SITUATION]
[VICTIM: SOPHIE EBERHART (AGE 8)]
[CAPTORS: VERRAT OPERATIVES (NUMBER UNKNOWN)]
[LOCATION: UNKNOWN]
"How do they contact you?"
"Burner phone. They text targets, I burn them. No negotiation, no exceptions." Ariel's hand shook on the door. "If I refuse, if I go to the police, if I tell anyone—"
"They'll kill her." I finished the sentence. "Standard coercion protocol."
"You say that like it's normal."
"It is normal. For monsters like the Verrat." I met her eyes. "But you're not dealing with them alone anymore. I have resources. Allies. A network that can find your daughter and extract her safely."
"And then what? They'll just take her again. Take someone else. The Verrat doesn't stop."
"Neither do I."
Ariel studied me for a long moment. Then, slowly, the door chain rattled free.
"Come inside. But if you're lying to me—"
"If I was lying, you'd already be dead." I stepped past her into the converted garage. "Now tell me everything. When they contact you, what they say, any details about where they might be holding Sophie."
The garage's interior was spartan—a bed, a small kitchen area, a workbench covered in welding equipment. Photos of a young girl decorated one wall, smiling images that contrasted sharply with the room's functional bleakness.
"They call every morning." Ariel sat on the bed, her energy suddenly depleted. "Let me talk to Sophie for thirty seconds. Proof of life, they call it. Then they give me the day's target."
"The phone. Where is it?"
She produced a cheap burner from beneath her pillow. I examined it without touching—fingerprints could be useful, if the Verrat had been careless.
"Monroe. Get this to the Mellifer network. See if they can trace the incoming calls."
"On it." He took the phone carefully, wrapping it in cloth.
Ariel watched us work with the expression of someone who'd stopped hoping but couldn't quite stop trying.
"You really think you can find her?"
"I know I can." I sat across from her, maintaining distance. "The Verrat isn't as careful as they think. They're using a Dämonfeuer as a weapon, which means they need facilities to hold a fire-resistant hostage. Specialized containment. That limits locations."
"And when you find her? What then?"
"We extract her. Eliminate the immediate threat." I held her gaze. "And then we discuss what happens next."
"What do you mean?"
"You have skills, Ariel. Rare skills. The Verrat saw you as a weapon to be aimed. I see something different." I gestured at the welding equipment. "A mother trying to protect her child. Someone who'd burn the world to keep her daughter safe."
"And?"
"And I could use people like that." I stood. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, we start hunting. And Ariel?"
"Yes?"
"If I was going to hurt you, I wouldn't have knocked." I moved toward the door. "Trust doesn't come easy. I understand that. But give me a chance to earn it."
Ariel's expression was unreadable. But she didn't attack. Didn't run. Didn't do any of the things a desperate Dämonfeuer might do when confronted by a Grimm.
Progress.
Monroe was waiting outside, the burner phone secured.
"You really think we can find the kid?"
"The Verrat has patterns. Preferences. They're professionals, which means they're predictable." I started walking toward the car. "We trace the calls, identify the containment facility, hit them before they know we're coming."
"And if they kill the girl when they realize we're attacking?"
"Then we make sure they never realize." I smiled—cold, determined. "The Verrat thinks they can use innocent children as leverage. Let's show them what happens to people who touch things that belong to the Pack."
Monroe shook his head but followed.
The hunt for Sophie Eberhart had begun.
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