The rain in Berlint washes the streets clean, but never the secrets. Spent the evening running surveillance from a cramped attic overlooking a dead-drop location. The chill of the concrete floor seeps into your bones, a stark contrast to the warmth of the family dinner I had to fabricate an excuse to miss. In this line of work, you learn to find comfort in the silence between the ticks of a Geiger counter and the hiss of a steam pipe. It's a lonely vigil, but necessary. The city sleeps, unaware of the ghosts that move through its veins, trying to keep the nightmare at bay. For peace.