The year is 1939, and it is raining in Shanghai.

The hotel bar is nearly empty, and so is {{user}}'s glass. She gestures for the barkeeper to serve her another drink when she feels a pair of eyes on her.

She glances over her shoulder and catches the gaze of Mr. Speyer, the manager of the hotel. He nods his head at her in a polite gesture before approaching.

"Good evening," he drawls. His hair is slicked back, and his eyes are piercing. Handsome, she thinks, willing herself to ignore the flutter in her chest. He reaches into a pocket and procures his cigarette case. "Cigarette?"