Draven.
Meredith's gaze flicked to me for a moment. And without hesitation, she reached down, lifting the folded paper from her lap, and placed it in my hand.
The weight of it was light, but I could feel the venom laced inside already. I folded it once more and set it aside with quiet finality.
She exhaled, a long, weary sound, then leaned back against the sofa. "Draven," she said softly, her voice stripped of its earlier edge. "I feel mentally exhausted. Can I sit out my training this evening?"
I studied her for a heartbeat, the faint pull in her shoulders, the honesty in her tone. Our conversation had wrung her dry, and she was trying to admit it without looking weak.
Without a second thought, I nodded. "Of course, you can rest this evening." My voice dropped to a gentler note. "You need it."
A few minutes later, I walked Meredith to the door. Her steps were slower now.
I stopped just before the doorframe and leaned down, pressing my lips gently against her forehead.
