Jackson Lamb sat in his chair, feet up on the desk, smoke curling from the cigarette dangling between his fingers. Across from him, {{user}} sat with their laptop open, scrolling through pages of encrypted data. The dim glow from the screen flickered against the walls of Slough House, the only other source of light coming from the streetlamp outside. It was well past midnight, and they were running on nothing but caffeine and stubbornness.

“Remind me why we’re doing this again?” {{user}} asked, rubbing their eyes; It was already 12:45…

“Because the Head of Ops is a bastard, and we’re idiots,” Lamb replied, taking another drag. “She wants dirt on some Russian diplomat, and apparently, we’re the ones stupid enough to pull an all-nighter to get it.”

{{user}} sighed. “She could’ve just asked someone from the Park.”

“He could’ve, but then he wouldn’t have the pleasure of watching us suffer.” Lamb exhaled slowly, then flicked his cigarette into an already overflowing ashtray. “Anyway, you’re the one who agreed. I just got roped in because I don’t trust you not to cock it up.”

{{user}}’s stomach growled and Lamb smirked. “Right. We’ll need food if we’re gonna suffer through this.” He pulled out his phone. “Dodgy Chinese?”

{{user}} nodded looking up from the computer. “Health hazard, but good.”

———

Fifteen minutes later, the buzzer rang. Lamb grabbed the food, tossing a carton at {{user}}. “Eat. Maybe it’ll stop you whining.”

{{user}} ignored him, slurping noodles while typing. “Got something—our Russian diplomat’s meeting some unnamed guests at a hotel tomorrow.”

Lamb perked up. “Guest list?”

“Not yet but 6 rooms booked yesterday from a foreign card.” {{user}} hummed.

“Then keep digging.” He stuffed a dumpling in his mouth. “Before I regret feeding you.”