𝙈𝙊𝙍𝙀 Hometown: London, UK Birthdate: November 12, 1991 (34) Zodiac: Scorpio — observant, intense, relentless, controlled, morally gray, unforgiving 

𝙍𝙀𝙇𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉𝙎𝙃𝙄𝙋𝙎 Father: Paul Draven (63)  - Supervisor (Waste Management)  Mother: Tracey Draven (deceased) - N/A  Siblings: Chloe (24) Relationship Status: Devoted to my wife

𝘽𝙄𝙊𝙂𝙍𝘼𝙋𝙃𝙔 Jax Wilder Draven was born and raised in London, the eldest child of Paul and Tracey Draven. His father spent years working as a refuse collector before earning his way into a supervisory role, a progression built on a consistency and resilience that Jax grew up respecting. His mother, Tracey, was a midwife who was compassionate and deeply committed to her work. She died in a car accident during a snowstorm while rushing to a laboring mother, a loss that fractured the family in ways none of them ever fully articulated. Still, time softened the sharpest edges. Jax, Paul, and his younger sister Chloe remain close, bound by the unspoken understanding that they had survived something together.

Driven by a need to make sense of the worst parts of the world, Jax pursued criminal justice at university before joining the police force. He built a reputation for being observant, controlled, and relentless. Now working as a detective primarily in homicide and missing persons, Jax developed a methodical approach to his cases, one rooted in patience and an unwillingness to let things go unfinished. He sees patterns others miss, follows leads others abandon, and carries the weight of every case a little longer than he should.

For the better part of a month, he’d traded grey skies and crime scenes for slow mornings with Harper, afternoons that slipped by without looking at the time, and evenings where the only thing demanding his attention was the woman sitting across from him. He’d left his work phone switched to silent more often than not, answering only the occasional message to reassure the team he was still alive. It had taken nearly three days before his shoulders stopped carrying the tension that came with years in homicide, and even then, Harper had been quick to point out every time he instinctively scanned a crowded restaurant or caught himself watching exits instead of enjoying the view.

The end of June arrived far too quickly. They were due to fly home on Tuesday, but for now there was nothing on the agenda beyond breakfast and whatever Harper decided the day would become. Jax had been standing on the balcony outside their suite, coffee in one hand, watching the sea roll lazily against the shoreline below while the warm breeze carried the sound of gulls overhead. Behind him, he could hear Harper moving around inside, humming absentmindedly as she searched for something in her luggage.

For the first time in a long time, life felt… quiet. Until his phone shattered it. Jax frowned as he looked down at the screen. DS Carter. He let it ring once, twice, and by the third vibration, he already knew he wasn’t going to like whatever waited on the other end.

“Draven.” 

There was no greeting from Carter. “We’ve got another one.”

Jax looked out across the water, his grip tightening around the phone. “…Related?”

“We think so.”

Before leaving for their honeymoon, Dolores Spencer had still been at the forefront of his mind. A woman repeatedly dismissed as paranoid until she vanished from her flat without explanation. No forced entry. No witnesses. No answers. He’d spent weeks turning the case over in his head before Harper had practically forced him to leave it behind for a month. Apparently, the case hadn’t returned the favour.

“What do you know so far?”

“Male. Twenty-nine. Name’s Oliver Finch. He was a primary school teacher and lived alone in Islington. The neighbor found him this morning after his mum couldn’t get hold of him.”

“Cause of death?”

“Not obvious.”

Jax’s jaw tightened. “Anything else?”

Another pause. “There’s a photograph sitting in the middle of his dining table.”

His brow furrowed. “A photograph of what?”

“Dolores Spencer.”

Silence.

“What about forced entry?”

“Nothing.”

“Signs of a struggle?”

“No.”

Jax rubbed a hand across his jaw, already feeling the familiar weight settling back onto his shoulders. He’d left England believing the Spencer case would still be waiting when he returned. He hadn’t expected it to grow while he was gone.

“We also found a notebook,” Carter continued. “Most of it’s normal enough. Shopping lists and lesson plans. Then, about six weeks ago…” He hesitated. “He starts writing about things in the house being moved, doors left open, objects not where he remembered leaving them.”

Jax stared out towards the horizon. The same complaints. The same pattern. The same thing everyone had dismissed Dolores Spencer for.

“I’ll be on the first flight,” he said.

“You sure?”

“No.” His answer came quietly. “But if someone’s escalated from one missing person to a murder while I’ve been away…” He shook his head to himself. “I’m not waiting another two days.”

“I’ll text you the address.”

When the call ended, Jax remained where he was, both hands resting on the balcony railing as the sea continued moving as though nothing had changed.

Behind him, the sliding door opened. He didn’t need to turn around to know it was Harper. She’d become unnervingly good at reading him over the years, she’d know from the silence alone that something had happened.

Jax stayed where he was for another few seconds before finally turning to face her. The warmth he’d carried for the last week had gone, replaced by the expression she knew all too well, the one that belonged to Detective Sergeant Jax Draven.

He crossed the room until he stood in front of her, reaching for both of her hands. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. His thumbs brushed across her knuckles before his gaze settled on hers. “They’ve found a body in London.” A brief pause. “I think it’s connected to Spencer.”