(Third Person).
Meredith turned and walked toward the door. The faint click of her boots echoed through the corridor, each step measured and steady.
As she stepped out, the door opposite hers opened almost at the same time. Draven emerged, dressed in his battle attire—all black, his presence radiating calm power.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the air between them seemed to still.
Without a word, he reached out his hand.
Meredith smiled, slipping her fingers into his. His grip was warm and steady. Together, they descended the staircase, the muted thud of their boots blending in rhythm.
Halfway down, Draven's teasing voice broke the quiet. "You smell nice," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
Meredith chuckled under her breath, glancing at him from the side. "Is that supposed to kill my nerves?"
He looked down at her with that faint, confident smile, the one that always made her heartbeat stumble. "Did it work?"
