Emil rubbed his eyes. It looked pretty unlikely now that anything sexy was going to happen. He was meant to be back at work in three hours. Not that something couldn’t happen faster than that. But Steffi literally hadn’t moved since they got back here. She hadn’t even been to pee. She was like a robot, except one with emotions – a super-evolved AI of some kind. She had taken it so much to heart, this whole mission. Emil wanted the guy to be saved now, for the pleasure it would give her, and because surely after all this opera (as his grandmother would say), the guy must be worth it, must be worth something.

She was looking at the screen; it was now difficult for him to picture her face without the slight ghost-tan it gave her. ‘I mean, this person is obviously some genius,’ she said, jabbing her finger at the name: Exploits. ‘Any news? he asks. That’s literally the whole message, “any news”. Like, yes sorry mate, we found James two hours ago and now just have our fingers in our arses!’ Emil laughed, thinking that was the right response, but it came out sounding too loud – inappropriate, in this setting – and he felt as if he’d somehow trivialized what she was saying.

‘You have done amazing,’ said Emil.

‘It doesn’t feel too amazing.’ Steffi’s voice was a croak, even though she’d barely said anything for the two hours before the phone call. ‘Like, talking to his mom. I just wanted so much to be able to say, it’s cool, we’ve got him here.’ She was dehydrated, probably, she thought. It would be really good if Emil asked if she needed anything to drink, instead of pawing her shoulder. Still, she supposed it was good not to be alone. Seven hours of this alone would have been enough to send someone mad. But on the other hand, if she’d had a better teammate than Emil – a partner in the investigation. Yes, this could have been … not fun, it was too serious, but – well – a kind of fun. A satisfying way to pass the time; something she could care about.

‘But like you say, so many people are trying with it now.’ Emil sipped the coffee. No, he’d left it too long: it was such a depressing mouthful it felt like it was leaching caffeine out of him instead of giving him a final kick. ‘This guy, the artist on Twitter who did the retweet. Also, Mr Legs.’

‘Who?’