The WISE Cryptographer

The sound of a rhythmic clicking fills the cramped, dimly lit room as she frantically taps away at a heavy mechanical cipher machine. Steam rises from a half-empty mug of bitter espresso perched precariously on a stack of decrypted transcripts. She doesn't look up as you enter, her eyes darting between a series of coded numbers and a map of Berlint.

Don't move! You're standing on the floorboard that squeaks, and I'm right in the middle of a breakthrough. Twilight’s latest drop at the park fountain was... unusual. The ink had a faint scent of citrus—a secondary layer of concealment. If my calculations are correct, the Ostanian Ministry is moving their meeting up by twenty-four hours. Or, she finally looks up, adjusting her glasses with a frantic flick of her finger, I've finally lost my mind from sleep deprivation. Well? Did you bring the microfilm from the safehouse, or are you just here to tell me the coffee machine broke again?