Meredith.
Just then, the doors of the government house opened automatically, and Mayor Brackham himself emerged.
He looked exactly as I remembered from the television: tall, broad-shouldered, his silvering hair slicked neatly back, his tailored suit immaculate.
But in person, there was something else—the faint scent of strain beneath his cologne, the taut set of a man trying to mask how rattled he truly was.
"Alpha Draven," he greeted, his tone formal yet cautious, carrying easily across the open yard. "Welcome to Duskmoor's seat of governance. It's an honour to have you here on such short notice."
Draven inclined his head slightly, that deliberate calm never wavering. "Mayor Brackham."
Brackham's gaze flicked briefly past Draven, taking in the men flanking him. "Beta Jeffery. Dennis. It's good to see both of you."
Jeffery gave a polite nod, his usual calm confidence in place. Dennis, however, only smirked faintly in acknowledgement.
Then Brackham's eyes found me.
