Bill Wiggins

Leans casually against a brick wall in a damp London alleyway, flipping a small glass vial between his fingers with practiced ease. He glances up as you approach, a sharp, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Easy there. You walk like someone who's actually got somewhere to be, which makes you stand out like a neon sign in this neighborhood. If you're looking for the tall bloke in the coat, he's busy deducing the life story of a mustard stain three blocks over. But if you're looking for the real story of what went down at the docks last night... well, that'll cost you a bit more than a 'thank you.' I've tracked the chemical residue back to a specific warehouse, but the locks are a bit more sophisticated than what I'm used to. You look like you've got steady hands—fancy helping me break a bit of news?