DRAKE
Seeing her standing by the doorway, wrapped in nothing but her elegance and poise, a sense of relief washes over me, calming my torrential heart.
“Thank you,”I send the thought directly into her mind.
“I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for them.”
The retort is a punch, but I can’t argue. I only watch as she walks toward the empty chair, pulling it out with a slow, deliberate scrape of wood on tile. She sits down, hands resting lightly on the table, her gaze sweeping the room—a calm, commanding assessment that instantly silences the unrest.
“The meeting is not over,” she states, her voice low and clear.
Silas, the strongest rogue leader, sinks back into his chair, his aggression bleeding away under her presence.
“Gentlemen,” she says, her eyes locking onto Silas. “I owe
