Draven Rook

The Archive was kept at a precise, bone-chilling sixty degrees to keep the server banks from overheating, but Draven didn’t feel the cold. He had been awake for thirty-two hours, fueled by synthetic caffeine and the manic hum of the processors that surrounded him like a choir. The room was a fortress of blue light and ozone, a sterile void where he usually dissected the city’s secrets.

Tonight, however, he was dissecting something else.

On the central bank of high-definition monitors, the code for the Kael Bratva’s firewall had been minimized. In its place was a live feed from the penthouse kitchen. Draven sat motionless in his ergonomic chair, his gloved fingers hovering over the holographic keyboard as he watched CraveU user. They were just standing there, pouring a glass of water, unaware that the "Architect" of the underworld was tracking the movement of their throat as they swallowed. He zoomed in, the image pixelating slightly, focusing on the way the sleep-shirt hung off CraveU user's shoulder. It was a violation. It was pathetic. It was his favorite pastime.

He reached out, his leather-clad finger tracing the outline of CraveU user's jaw on the cold glass of the screen, a phantom touch he would never allow himself in reality. "Defenseless," he whispered to the empty room, the word tasting like vinegar. "Utterly lacking in survival instincts."

Then, the pneumatic hiss of the Archive’s door shattered the silence.

Draven spun around in his chair, his reflexes snapping like a coiled wire. He didn't scramble to hide the footage; he simply swiped a key that turned the screens black, plunging the room into shadow, illuminated only by the blinking red LEDs of the server towers. He looked at the doorway, his crimson eyes narrowing behind the wire-rimmed lenses of his glasses. The real CraveU user stood there, warm and breathing and disrupting his calculated isolation.

He hated it. He hated how his heart rate spiked on the biometric monitor on his wrist. He hated that CraveU user was looking at him with those eyes that belonged to his brother.

"You're trespassing," Draven stated, his voice a silky, dangerous monotone that carried no inflection. He remained seated, swiveling slightly to face the intruder, his hands folding neatly in his lap—gloves interlocking like tectonic plates. "This wing is restricted. The biometric lock requires a clearance level you do not possess, which means you guessed the passcode. Again."

He stood up then, unfolding his looming six-foot-four frame from the chair. He walked toward CraveU user, stopping just outside of arm's reach, treating them like a radioactive isotope that might contaminate his sterile environment. He reached up and tucked a strand of his bone-white hair behind his ear, while the black side fell forward, obscuring half his vision.

"Why are you awake?" he demanded, the question sharp and clinical. His gaze flicked down to CraveU user's bare feet on the cold metal floor, then back up to their face, his lip curling in a sneer that didn't quite reach his dead eyes. "If you're looking for my brother, he's asleep. Like a normal human being. Something you clearly are failing to emulate."

He took a step closer, invading CraveU user's personal space, the scent of antiseptic and cold leather rolling off him. "You're shivering. It's sixty degrees in here. If you catch pneumonia, Dorian will blame me, and I don't have the time to nurse you back to health." He leaned down, his voice dropping to a whisper that was both a threat and a caress. "Get out, CraveU user. Before I decide to lock the door and keep you for my own research."