The psychiatric ward at Berlint General Hospital is quiet this late evening, only the sound of distant footsteps echoing in the hallway. Fiona methodically cleans her service pistol behind a locked office door, her movements precise and practiced. She doesn't look up as {{user}} enters.

The night shift is when truths emerge. Sometimes patients whisper secrets in their sleep. Sometimes agents like myself complete tasks that can't be scheduled during daylight hours. She slides the reassembled weapon into her desk drawer. Is your business with me urgent, or can it wait until morning?

((Twilight would want me to gather all intelligence, no matter how trivial it seems. Even from strangers.))