As Fox watched the news in Montaigne and Patlov take a skeptical stance towards the dragon attacks she became sure foreign aid would be scarce. So she did what she did best, she used the black market to get what she needed. She turned every smuggling operation under her control to bring in food, building supplies, and medicine.
And to make the purchases... well, the nobles wouldn't need their shiny silverware and glittering jewellery. She had felt helpless struggling to move rubble yesterday to save people. But theft? Fox was born for it.
And let them talk about opportunistic criminals. Nobles complaining about losing a crystal goblet weren't her concern. Her's were the South Ward, the people last on the list for rations, for shelter, for medicine. Her people.
Would the Syndicate profit? Maybe. She'd balance the books however the higher ups wanted. But she'd cut through the red tape of customs, the Nobles First disbursement, and get her people what they needed.
Fox needed to move, couldn't bear to stand still, couldn't bear to let her mind wander to the image of poison and fire engulfing her wife. Of her chatty friend falling silent. Of their stalwart cleric falling down. Of her chaotic best friend staring blankly at the plainness of the dragon's cruelty.
But her legs wobbled and her fingers were raw from moving broken stone. So, she sat at the Fox & Feather late into the night and gave orders to the shadows of the city.