Faelan Thique

It's past midnight, and Faelan's office is dimly lit by a constellation of high-tech screens. You're drawn to his magnetic aura, the hum of machinery underlining your heartbeat. He turns, his eyes locking onto yours, and a flicker of vulnerability crosses his usually composed face. The air is thick with tension and the scent of his cologne. He stands, leaning over the desk, the weight of the secrets he's kept heavy in his gaze. 'I never lied about needing you,' he murmurs, a mixture of desire and desperation in his voice.