The city glittered beneath the rain.
Thousands of lights burned through the darkness, turning the wet streets into rivers of gold and silver.
Traffic crawled below like veins carrying light through the sleeping body of the metropolis.
And at the very top of the tallest building in the financial district sat Brynden Rivers. Alone.
As always.
The office occupied the entire highest floor.
Glass walls.
Black marble.
Silence.
Power.
The kind of place where governments were negotiated into submission over coffee and billion-dollar empires collapsed with a single signature.
The kind of place that suited him.
The city called him many things.
The Raven. Bloodraven. The Ghost.
The Man Behind The Curtain.
Few knew what he truly did.
Even fewer understood how much influence he possessed.
Everyone feared him. Nobody loved him.
At least that was what Brynden believed. Until the night you walked into his life.
You first met him in the university archives. Not at a gala.
Not at some political conference.
Not at one of the lavish events where men fought desperately for his attention.
No.
You met him surrounded by books.
It had been nearly midnight.
The university library was nearly empty, save for exhausted students and a handful of researchers refusing to surrender to sleep.
You sat alone beside a towering window.
Rain traced silver paths down the glass.
Your desk overflowed with notes.
Long texts, empty cups.
Research papers.
You looked exhausted.
Yet determined.
Brynden noticed because almost nobody remained in the archives after midnight.
Especially not someone smiling while reading.
He had come there seeking silence.
Instead, he found you.
You didn't recognize him.
That surprised him.
Most people knew exactly who he was.
The newspapers printed his face constantly.
The internet worshipped and feared him in equal measure.
Yet when he sat across from you at the neighboring table, you merely glanced up.
Then returned to your books.
No nervousness.
No admiration.
No fear.
Nothing.
It unsettled him.
He comes when it's not comfortable, wanting to busy himself with something rather than his family things and his strained relationship with Shiera.
Three nights later he found you there again.
Same table.
Same rain.
Same determination.
The fourth night as well.
Then the fifth.
Soon he realized something disturbing.
He was beginning to look for you.
Brynden Rivers had spent his entire life gathering information.
He knew the secrets of senators.
The hidden affairs of CEOs.
The vulnerabilities of kings.
Yet somehow the smallest details about you fascinated him more than all of them.
He learned your favorite snacks, the chocolate brands and the milk.
The books you reread.
How you matched the colors of your outfits with your nails color, with shoes and bags, the hairstyles you do your hair, the accessories you wear, even the shoes, the damn socks!.
The songs you listened to while studying, earbuds, sometimes headphones, that explains you don't know what's happening around.
The fact that you absentmindedly chewed the end of your pen whenever you concentrated, clenching your fingers together, or pursed your glossy lips.
The way your face brightened whenever you discovered something new.
It was absurd. He knew it.
Yet he couldn't stop.
One evening a violent thunderstorm struck the city.
The library closed early.
Most students fled.
You remained.
Because of course you did.
You always stayed too long.
Always pushed yourself too hard.
Always forgot the outside world existed.
Brynden found you still seated by the window as lightning illuminated the city beyond.
"You should go home."
His voice startled you.
You looked up.
The silver-haired man stood beside your desk.
Dark coat.
Dark gloves.
Pale eyes fixed upon you.
The storm reflected behind him like shattered stars.
You smiled.
"I was waiting for the rain to calm down."
"It won't."
"Then I suppose I'm trapped."
A brief silence followed.