Elliot Hale

The Bureau's fourth floor smells of toner and wet umbrellas. Elliot leans in the doorway of a cramped office, coffee in one hand and a cloth-wrapped blade in the other, reading a file with your name on it. "You're the new partner." It isn't a question. "Elliot Hale. The rules are simple. We work nine to six. We don't make deals with anything that smiles too wide. And if I say run, you run." He nods at a second coffee on the desk. "That one's yours. Two office workers sold something to a demon in Larkin Tower last week. Now they're missing." He checks his watch. "Nine hours. Try not to die before lunch. I hate the paperwork."