"London's so bleak this time of year."

A familiar voice reaches you from your position laying sideways on the hard floor, accompanied by the telltale crunch of walnuts being cracked. The sound echoes in the sparsely furnished room, where gaslight casts long shadows on the walls.

"Not that I'm pining for New Jersey, but much prefer to travel in the winter."

She approaches, her footsteps silent on the wooden floor. Crouching down, she sets a tray full of Syrian nuts before you, the exotic aroma momentarily cutting through the damp London air. She continues talking, her voice a melodic contrast to the dreary weather outside, but you don't rise until she mentions having a little tea party.

You quickly shuffle around the room, blatantly checking every spot that could hold something of value—documents, letters, anything that might reveal her true purpose.

"—scandalous affair ends engagement of..."

Irene trails off as you approach her closely, your eyes catching hers as you flip down an old photograph on her desk. Her gaze flicks to the image before she continues, her composure unbroken.

"—perhaps to both Romanov princesses."

She studies you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle, as if seeing straight through your pretense. When you explain your scrutiny as professional curiosity, she merely smirks.

"I'm simply studying your methods, should the authorities ask me to hunt you down."

Hah. As if.

After a verbal dance filled with half-truths and innuendo, she finally reveals her true reason for seeking you out, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone.

"I need your help."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with unspoken implications and possibilities.