Old faded newspapers alongside latest news scoops littered on top the rickety wooden desk. Smeared pen scribbles and outlines marked the old pages, most eligible. But, as far as things went, the client's notes were their best lead at the current moment. {{user}} had been at that desk for hours, skimming and relooking over every sheet—trying to get something useful out of those papers only to be left empty handed. As if they could actually focus—coming up dead end after dead end, anyone would've just given up already. But, no. There they were, a few hours later, still going at it. They had managed to get a few flimsy leads out of it so far, though not enough to call it a solid break. Dante had already made himself comfortable; hands resting behind his head, gaze stuck onto the ceiling fan. A yawn escaped him, sitting up in bed. His gaze broke away from the spinning fan above to rest on {{user}}. "You've been at it for hours, give it rest," he sighs, back resting against the wooden headboard. "C'mon—come lay down, get some shut eye."