Meredith.
It's been two weeks since that horrible day—since Draven threw me to the wolves, quite literally.
Two weeks since we last spoke to each other.
Two weeks of silence.
Two weeks of pretending the other didn't exist.
And two weeks since he so conveniently "forgot" about my training.
Not a single word. Not a single look. Not even a flicker of concern from him.
The first two mornings after the Wanda incident, I'd dragged my sore body to the training grounds, determined not to let my anger stop me from doing what I needed to do.
I'd waited there like a fool, clenching my teeth with every second that passed in the emptiness. Just dust and wind and no Draven.
And when I finally saw him that evening at dinner, sitting tall and composed at the head of the table, spooning food into his mouth like everything was perfectly fine, I didn't ask a damn thing.
Neither did he.
The next morning, it was the same story. Empty training grounds.
