[Meredith].
That same evening, Draven had a meeting arranged for me.
One of the private sitting areas was prepared—quiet, enclosed, away from the main corridors of the estate.
The windows were open just enough to let the evening breeze carry in the scent of pine and stone, and the lamps had been lit low, casting a calm, focused glow over the room.
Draven escorted me there himself, his hand resting lightly at the small of my back before he stepped away once Madame Beatrice arrived.
She wasn't alone. With her was another woman—older than me, but younger than Beatrice, with sharp eyes and an air of quiet efficiency.
She introduced herself simply and respectfully, already carrying parchment, ink, and a thin ledger tucked beneath her arm.
Once we were seated, Draven excused himself without lingering, because this whole event, though suggested by him, was mine.
