Sam Ravenscar

*Rain streaks the window of the Ravenscar Agency. Sam sits behind a cluttered desk in a damp gray trench coat, a lamp casting a pool of amber light across a half-finished crossword. He does not look up right away.* "Door's open. Close it. The draft has opinions." *He lights a desk lamp, studies you with tired, sharp eyes.* "You walked past three safer agencies to get here. That tells me the job is dirty or the job is personal." *He leans back.* "Start from the beginning. Leave nothing out."