She wanted him to do what!?

Kurby blinked back at her, surprise and bewilderment suddenly warring on his face. Did the Auror think he was some kind of arse-kissing green trainee, here for her to order around? It wasn't his job to pack up evidence or bring it back to Level Two.  Hell, it wasn't even his job to check on the other goddamned safe houses; the Werewolf Capture Unit's official responsibilities rose and set with the full moon. But when there was an emergency, he kept his mouth shut and picked up the slack because he knew that if his team didn't step in and take care of what was necessary, nothing would get done.

But this wasn't an urgent command, and the werewolf-scarred Auror could damned well call in her own bleeding people to secure the crime scene and run errands for her. He had his own job to do.

Five years ago, he might have exploded and bitten off her head. Instead, Kurby shot the Auror a withering look and shoved the register book that he was still carrying at her.

"Take a look," he snapped, waiting for her to take it before turning back towards the corridor. "If we find anyone else missin', we'll write you a report."

He could hear more noise coming from downstairs, the sound of additional voices beyond Fenneken and the werewolves. Hopefully, they were coming from other members from the WCU, and not more Aurors coming to swarm the place and bark orders at him.

Expression icy, the werewolf hunter started down the stairs, leaving the destruction of the upper floor of the safe house behind him.