Meredith.
"Confidence is one thing," she murmured, her eyes flicking between me and Draven, "but don't mistake it for arrogance. Some places—some people—don't take kindly to a misplaced sense of self."
The words were dipped in honey, but I heard the poison underneath. My lips parted, ready to answer, but then I felt it—Draven's presence sharpening beside me.
He didn't look at her or raise his voice. He simply set his wine glass down with the faintest click and said, "Enough."
The weight of that single word was enough to silence the entire table.
I picked up my fork again, the clink of silverware against porcelain sounding louder than before, or maybe it only felt that way because the tension had thinned.
No one else dared to speak out of turn after Draven's warning.
I let the silence settle around us, savoring my food and, more importantly, savoring the look on my siblings' faces as they tried to swallow their pride.
