I took a few steps backward, making it look like I was planning to follow him. And again, I waited. Waited while the car pulled away from the front of the observatory. Waited while it drove, not toward the driveway down to the main road, but behind the building, out of sight. It stopped there, unable to get out without passing me. I frowned, and considered following.

Graham was waiting. I’d ask him to use a different car service to get us home. Turning, I walked into the lobby, into the cool rush of sterile, treated air, kept steady at a temperature several degrees cooler than the outside.

“It gets hot as hell here in Maine,” said a friendly voice. Graham and I looked toward it. A tall, beefy man in a white coat over a vintage Steven Universe T-shirt was bearing down on us, a wide smile on his round face. His hair was styled in short dreadlocs and pulled back in a ponytail that should have looked silly, yet somehow just looked practical, like all men ought to consider wearing their hair that way.

His smile helped. His teeth were remarkably white, and his skin was dark enough that the contrast drew and trapped the eye, making it hard to look away. I thought he was one of the most attractive men I’d ever seen, which made it a little confusing that he was hiding himself away at a small observatory in the middle of Maine and not starring in some half-baked network drama Tuesday nights at nine.

He seemed to catch my confusion, because the smile softened around the edges as he said, “I can see you’ve traveled a long way, and you’re not reporters, which is nice. They’ve mostly tapered off by this point. There’s nothing new for the news cycles here, and they didn’t like the way we kept asking them for donations. To whom am I speaking?”

“Dr. Graham Fordham,” said Graham, extending his hand with a bright smile of his own. The stranger clasped it, and the two of them formed a brief, perfect image out of a recruiting poster. Become a scientist, spend all your time surrounded by beautiful men as you unlock the secrets of the universe. Dental plan clearly included.

“Dr. David Tillman,” said the stranger, smiling again as he pulled his hand away. He looked toward me, expecting another title, another doctor or professor, another scientist. Why else would we be here, if we weren’t with the press, and weren’t with the government?

“Anastasia Miller,” I said. I stuck my hand out and he took it, staring at me as he carefully, almost timidly, gave it a shake.

“Miller,” he repeated, in a tremulous voice.

“Yes.”

“The abductee.”