His long platinum hair hung from his shoulders- waterfalling over his back.
The young man's Doctor's coat was left at the Pack House hospital. He was given a temporary office so he could leave with nothing.
He was left with his white Mandarin with the top three buttons open. His white dress pants blended in, making him a walking white highlighter. It was great for his workplace but not for the great outdoors.
"Rogues like dark and quiet places." He rumbled lowly, "We should double-check alleyways, dark corners, and parks."
The man walking beside him was his polar opposite. Lucifer was known for his expensive fashion- looking nice is all a part of his image. His fashion majorly included, and excluded all else, colours as dark as his soul.
It was best described as being edgy, modern, or dystopian. The only opinion that mattered to Lucifer was his wife's.
And his wife? Well, she thought it was sexy. That's all Lucifer cares about.
The Beta shoved his large hands in his pockets, "They said she doesn't know two shits about 2044..." He'd hum, "Calamity probably has no idea where she's going."
He nodded in agreement. She remembers it being 2024—exactly 20 years in the past. It wouldn't be hard to deduce she's lost.
Lucifer and the doctor were the last men left standing. Cronus explained that he needed to leave for political affairs—considering he was the Governor of Washington and Alpha of Atourania. The fact that he had time even to visit the pack house was an honour.
Despite his absence, Lucifer was a good man for the job. He manages the Caninus Police, including werewolf affairs, so he is perfectly equipped.
"Should be easier to find her based on her stink..." He commented with a bothered grumble.
The constant comments about her smell made him pursed his lips in thought. Was it fair to constantly criticize the same feature in front of someone thinking, understanding, and breathing?
In all honesty... the smell of rogues has never bothered him. Many doctors and nurses leave the Roguis specialization because the smell of rogues gets too much- but he's always thought they smelled... fine.
Almost a little good, actually.
"Caninus' are in every route she could've taken from that window," Lucifer explained as they walked down the street- many werewolves bowing their head in respect at him.
The albino-haired man asked, "Did you get the security footage?"
Lucifer raised his shoulders. "Yes. She climbed down from the window—9th floor." He shook his head. " I have no idea how she managed it, but it's not outside the super abilities rogues have done out of pure murderous hunger."
He breathed out a sigh, "... Look." The doctor stopped, causing Lucifer to slow down in front with a curious expression. "Her responses and mental capacity are normal. Despite how distraught she is, she's even aware it's been two decades."
The tan man folded his arms, "What are you saying?" He challenged with a raised brow.
The doctor took a step toward him, "Don't talk about her like she's a mindless, murderous predator."
Two men stared at each other on the sidewalk- heavy eyes unmoving with colliding authority. Despite their personal experiences with rogues- the reports from nurses have said it all.
Lucifer's stubbled jaw clenched- grinding his molars- before relenting. "I contacted Traven Steele, her brother, to get permission to activate her tracker." He leaned back and stepped away, "Went straight to voicemail- but we left one in case he'll receive it."
He breathed a sigh of relief and ran his fingers through his platinum-white hair. The duo continued their trek down the street- stuffing his hands in his pockets.
Endless streets were all they were welcomed with. 20 years ago, it may have been feasible to find her in such a massive city, but Seattle's population has grown to about 1.1 million residents.
The housing shortage was stronger than ever, but thousands of people still found a way to live here.
He can only wonder if that possible cure for the lyssavirus will be possible anymore.