(Winter’s POV)
The meeting hall was already filled when Winter arrived.
Voices moved in low currents across the room—measured, controlled, the kind of conversation that never fully relaxed even in familiarity. Members of the leadership stood or sat in small clusters, their attention shifting almost immediately as she stepped through the doors.
Winter didn’t pause.
She moved forward with quiet certainty, her presence settling into the space before she reached the center of it. Her attire drew the eye without demanding it—a simple white lace top, off the shoulder, elegant without excess. The silk pants flowed cleanly with each step, the white heels silent against the floor. Her hair had been pulled up and styled with precision, not a strand out of place. It framed her face in a way that
