[Meredith].
Early the next morning, Draven and I stretched quietly in the training space before returning to our bedroom in the main house.
He looked better now, rested. But not healed.
The sharp edge from last night had dulled just enough for me to breathe easier. Still, I knew better than to think the storm inside him had passed. It was only sleeping.
When he lay back down on our bed, staring at the ceiling, I hesitated before speaking.
"Do you have any meetings today?" I asked carefully.
"Yes," he replied. Then, after a pause, he added, "But I won't be attending."
I nodded, not surprised.
"And I won't be joining breakfast."
That one stung more than I expected.
I didn't push him. I knew that look in his eyes—the one that said he couldn't bear to sit across from his father yet, not with everything still raw and burning in his chest.
"I will stay with you today," I said instead. "At least until after lunch. I have… something important to do later."
