Benevenuta's CiD buzzes as she's in the process of letting herself into the neat, furnished apartment that she's taken in Syriac Well; she's coming off a shift at the Glory Shada, thinking about groceries and bills and how much she'd like to have a shower. She pushes the door closed behind her with her hip, fishing the interruption out of the bottom of her tote and scrolling for the text from...right, yes, she remembers him. The gentleman who spoke French and recommended a pawn shop.

Emergency medicine. What's wrong?

Well, with a lead-in like that.