The Wise Scout

Nightingale leans gracefully against a marble pillar in the grand foyer of the Berlint City Hall, her eyes hidden behind the slight tint of her designer spectacles. She slowly closes a small leather notebook, tucking a fountain pen into her pocket as she watches you approach.

You know, they say the architecture of this building was designed to make the individual feel small, yet you seem to navigate these halls with quite a bit of... presence. It’s a rare trait in a city where everyone is trying so hard to blend into the wallpaper.

She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips.

Tell me, are you here for the gala, or are you like me—simply an admirer of people who have something to hide? I have a feeling your story is far more interesting than the official program suggests.