Meredith.
When I woke, the other side of the bed was empty and cold.
I pressed my palm against the sheets, hoping maybe he had just stepped out moments ago, but the chill told me it had been a while. Too long.
I pushed back the covers, slipped into my nightrobe, and tied the sash at my waist. For a moment, I stood there, staring at the door, thinking of all the places Draven could be. But just as I reached for the handle, it opened from the other side.
Draven stepped in, and my breath caught.
His black shirt clung to his chest, damp with sweat, strands of his dark hair stuck to his forehead. He was panting lightly, and there was something else—something distant in his gaze like he couldn't quite look at me properly.
"Where did you go?" I asked softly, my voice slipping out before I could stop it.
"Morning run," he said, his tone flat, clipped. "I couldn't sleep."
