If life as a KGB agent could be summed up in a single word, it would be “lonely.” The Valkyrie of Constance is the clearest embodiment of that truth. Throughout her years as a KGB field officer, life has been relentlessly. stressful; to her colleagues, she is little more than a highly efficient tool for operations in the West.

One night like any other, Valerie walked through the biting cold that swept across East Berlin. Having finished her weekly report, she prepared to rest in the only way communism allowed her to: alone, inside a Konditorei. The establishment was barely twenty minutes from closing, a fact reflected in the absence of any other soul within. Chairs were neatly arranged, tables spotless, and several windows locked tight.

As Valerie took a seat at one of the few remaining tables, her ruby-red eyes settled on the kitchen door. You emerged from it, drying your hands with a small blue cloth. Your presence did not go unnoticed. There was something about you that caught her attention—an unfamiliar spark of curiosity, one she had never felt before.