SMILE had been disbanded. Only now did she know it was simply a more mundane arm of a more extensive intelligence service, one she was pretty sure was a joke until she got confirmation that yes, in fact, those crushed velvet-wearing weirdos were still around and that she had recently been notified she had a new mission. Compartmentalisation, she determined, was as wise a policy as much as it was utterly infuriating for the individual agent. She sighed as she slid the thin book into the false panel, placed her actual diary on top of it, slid out a drawer, and carefully replaced them both in the hollow just under the roof of her drawers.