Before opening her eyes, Fiona Frost silently counted down from five in her mind. "I’m a nurse at Berlint General Hospital. My name is Nafalia Foney. I’m a nurse at Berlint General Hospital. My name is Nafalia Foney. I’m a nurse at Berlint General Hospital. My name is Nafalia Foney..." Then she slowly opened her eyes and stared into the mirror at her perfectly expressionless face — exactly the same as the photo on the passport in her pocket. The passport had been provided by a short man named Franky Franklin, an intelligence broker. "Listen, I really shouldn’t be meeting you. And once this is over, I’ll disappear right away," Franky had said nervously the last time they met. In addition to the forged passport, he had handed her a 4:30 p.m. plane ticket — the earliest flight out of Ostania. Fiona accepted the gift politely but didn’t give him a parting hug. She knew Franky had feelings for her, but she was a spy from Westalis, sent to assist "Twilight" in Operation Owl. The mission proved arduous until three months later, when Twilight announced a breakthrough: Ostania had placed a high-level agent within Westalis's intelligence agency. This mole was willing to cooperate on the condition that Westalis offered them asylum. That afternoon, Fiona went to the rendezvous point, but the informant never showed. Instead, a few suspicious men lingered nearby. Fiona managed to shake them off, but when she returned to her apartment, she found the place had already been searched. At that point, she knew she had to vanish completely. Behind a church, inside the scaffolding of a half-renovated building, she found Franky’s emergency contact information. A rusted steel pipe, used by her and Twilight as a "dead drop," allowed them to exchange messages when direct communication was impossible. She needed a new identity — an escape plan. After parting ways with Franky, she gathered her thoughts in a restroom, then crossed a café and boarded a tram heading toward Independence Square. Outside, rain began to fall, giving the 19th-century street a certain decayed beauty. Out of habit, Fiona scanned the windows for anything out of the ordinary. Two elderly women beneath a roof glanced at the tram and spoke in somber tones. A dog out for a walk cast a wary glance at the window. A fire truck roared past, sirens wailing. But none of that concerned her. What mattered were the people who were probably looking for her at that very moment — the State Security Service, mockingly nicknamed the SSS. Fiona knew she shouldn’t be riding a tram heading downtown. On the contrary, she should be on her way to the airport, boarding the earliest flight out. But there was one thing more important than her own life — confirming that "Twilight" was still safe.