She propped one wingtip across the other on top of her desk. In all honesty, she missed her uniform, with its requisite attention to detail, with all it represented. Her uniform had told a story, to those in the know, but this, her new uniform, made a clear statement of anonymity. Of professionalism. Of competence and confidence.

At the knock, Raven adjusted her tie and put her feet on the floor.

"Enter," she said.

The lady appeared in her doorway, backlit, her hair haloed and her face obscured. Her dress, bias-cut, hugged her waist and hips, and as she moved into the room, Raven couldn't keep herself from the short sharp breath. She pressed her lips together and extended her hand.

"Raven Reyes, at your service."

The lady's firm grip surprised Raven. Pleasantly.

"Abigail Griffin," she said, "Doctor Abigail Griffin."

Raven's eyebrows lifted, and then the corners of her mouth did, too.

In a moment, Raven remembered to release the Doctor's hand. She invited her to sit down.

"My husband is missing. As if he was sucked into the void." Abby slid a photograph out of her handbag. "This is Jake."

Raven brought her focus from Abby's eyes back to the photo. Part of her mind took in the lady's story while another part considered the lady's lips. And her décolletage. She kept herself from running a finger between her neck and collar by folding her hands on the desk in front of her.

The husband was a scientist working for the government on something he couldn't talk about. Raven had heard this sort of story before. What she hadn't heard before was that the wife not only fixed people, she fixed situations, too. Ordinarily she would have fixed this one, but the information just kept slipping through her fingers.

Doctor Abigail Griffin stopped herself from imagining Raven Reyes' hair slipping through her fingers.

Raven's hand covered the doctor's. "I've lost a guy, too."

Abby looked from their hands to Raven's eyes. "And you call yourself a detective?"

Raven made a dismissive sound. "He was killed. It's better if you don't know the details. He did bad things— very bad things— while I was deployed."

Abby smiled. "WAC?"

Raven chuckled. "WASPs, actually. Aircraft mechanic."

"Thing is," said Abby, "I do need help finding Jake. But…" —and here she bit her upper lip— "I want to ride with you."

"You want— what?"

Abby turned over Raven's hand. Calluses on her fingers corroborated her wartime occupation.

"I want you. To help me find him."

Raven read her lips. She considered.

"Well, Doctor," she began, "you've got yourself a mechanic."