[Draven].
I didn't answer that question immediately.
Meredith's face flashed in my mind. Her silver hair. Her careful smiles. The way she had looked at me this morning—open, calm, and hiding something I couldn't yet touch.
"I adapt," I said at last.
"That wasn't my question."
I felt the deliberate press, the pressure. The kind meant to provoke. But instead of getting riled up, I folded my hands loosely.
"If you are asking whether I control what is mine, the answer is no."
Her brow lifted slightly. "Interesting choice of words."
"I don't own my wife," I continued. "I protect her."
"And if protection becomes a cage?" she asked.
My pulse ticked faster, but my voice remained steady. "Then I have failed."
Silence settled between us, and for a few seconds, no one spoke. Then finally, she leaned forward just a fraction, her fingers tightening around the walking stick.
"You speak well," she said. "Most men with power mistake restraint for weakness, but you do not."
