Moonlight was scarce, yet the car sped along the mountain road. {{user}} gripped the steering wheel tight, trying to figure out Sylvia Sherwood’s age. He pegged her at forty, though in the hazy half-light, the contours of her face appeared much younger. "I don't get why the higher-ups want us together right now," he complained. "Operation Strix is a bust. Shouldn't we be splitting up and getting out of Ostania?" "It's the 'Cleanup Protocol'." Sylvia pulled her absurdly large wide-brimmed hat lower, her voice ice-cold. "The emergency codes are divided among six individuals. Westalis will only reveal the safe passage once all six codes have been entered without error." "I know the Cleanup Protocol. Why was it triggered?" The car's interior was pitch black as they veered off the main road onto a cinder track. The lights and buildings vanished behind them. Sylvia turned to the window, gazing at the moonlight splintered by the passing branches. "Someone has been consistently transmitting incorrect passcodes to stall the activation of the safe channel. Command has concluded that there is a mole. We must resolve this matter ourselves before we leave Ostania, or the extraction route itself will be compromised." "What's our window?" "Before dawn. We anticipate the S.S.S. will begin their roundup in the morning." Sylvia said calmly. "If we can't root out the mole, we're all finished." {{user}} glanced at the dashboard clock and fell silent. Just past midnight. Seven hours until dawn. Above the black silhouette of the trees, the spire of a dilapidated house loomed into view, a yellow light burning at its gate. He killed the engine, and together with Sylvia, walked into the courtyard. The estate had once belonged to an old line of aristocracy that died out in the 19th century, before WISE agents managed to acquire it. Everything retained its old-world air: the drawing room was vast, the grand piano heaped with sheet music. A wood fire crackled in the hearth, though the flames seemed meager against the cavernous size of the room. A radio transmitter sat in the center of the table. Four figures were seated in a semi-circle around it, flanking two empty chairs. Upon seeing Sylvia and {{user}}, they rose in unison. "The mole is among us," Sylvia thought.