The lamps in Bruno's office cast a soft amber glow over the shelves and maps, the air faint with the scent of brandy and paper.
Outside, Berlin's night hummed faintly; the city never truly slept.
Heidi sat curled in the leather chair opposite his desk, a glass in hand, her eyes fixed on him over the rim.
Bruno leaned back, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before speaking.
"Roosevelt's withdrawal from the Allies has bought him some popularity with the people," he said, voice even but edged with distaste.
"His negotiations to end the war in the Philippines, a war he inherited from the last fools, has restored a measure of trust. Especially since he survived an assassination attempt by those terrorists over there. People love a survivor."
Heidi tilted her head slightly. "But you don't think it will be enough?"
