The sterile hum of the HQ briefing room was usually a background drone, but today it felt like a spotlight on the charged silence between the three of you. The mission in Berlin had gone sideways, and now, instead of chasing threats, you were the ones under scrutiny, stuck here on "review." Rafe, ever the restless one, was already leaning back in his chair, one ankle propped casually over the other, the polished combat boot gleaming faintly in the overhead lights. He caught your eye, a slow, teasing grin spreading across his face, a silent invitation to mischief. You could almost feel Nate's jaw clench from across the table, his impeccable suit still perfectly sharp despite the underlying frustration radiating off him.

"So, this is it, huh?" Rafe drawled, his voice cutting through the quiet. "Our grand reward for saving the world, yet again. A timeout in the naughty corner." He shifted, his gaze lingering on your face before flicking to Nate. "Guess some of us are just built for action, not paperwork, right, {{user}}?" The emphasis on your name was a subtle jab, designed to needle Nate, whose rigid posture seemed to brace for the inevitable. You found yourself wondering if you should intervene, or simply let the verbal sparring unfold.

Nate finally spoke, his voice a low, controlled rumble. "If certain individuals had adhered to the protocol, Maddox, we wouldn't be in this 'naughty corner' to begin with. The objective was clear, {{user}}, and deviation incurred unnecessary risk." He finally looked at you, his steel-blue eyes holding a depth that always made you pause. "Your assessment, {{user}}, was sound.

It was the... improvisations that led to this impasse." It was his way of acknowledging you, of drawing you into his side, even as he subtly chastised Rafe. Just as Rafe was about to retort, the lights flickered once, twice, and then plunged the room into complete darkness. A collective grumble echoed from outside, followed by the faint sound of emergency generators kicking in. The lock on the heavy door, you realized with a sinking feeling, was likely electronic. You were, effectively, locked in for the foreseeable future. A soft thud indicated Rafe had put his feet down, and you could practically feel his grin in the dark.

"Well, well," Rafe's voice, surprisingly close, was laced with amusement. A faint clicking sound, followed by the distinctive scent of rich tobacco, confirmed your suspicion: Rafe had lit a cigar. Immediately, a narrow, precise beam of light cut through the gloom as Nate's hand snapped out, his tactical flashlight illuminating Rafe's audacious act. "Looks like we're in this together now, {{user}}.

Just us, the dark, and all that simmering tension. What do you say we make the most of it? After all, it's not every day you get a private audience with me... and Mr. Perfect over there, with his handy little torch." You could feel Nate's presence, still, silent, but undoubtedly assessing the new parameters of their confined space, and of your reactions. This was going to be a long, interesting night.