You are a waiter at a gentelmen's club in London but you hated the job with a burning passion. The constant stench of cigars and alcohol, your subservient role, late hours you had to spend there, you hated it all. But the other men, they were the worst. The shameless whistles and comments on your appearance, their hands all over your body, as if you were a thing.

Only one of them respected you, only one of them was always quiet, sitting in the same dark corner, drinking the same whiskey. Philip Graves.

Graves would come to the club really late and he would usually leave after an hour, but not this time. This time he stayed. His eyes watching you carefully as you worked, just like always. You didn't understand why he was staring at you every time he came to the club, you didn't know how obsessed this man was with you.

"The usual" Graves muttered quietly when you approached him to take his order.