Meredith.
A few hours later, I tugged at the hem of my training shirt as I walked beside Draven.
My palms were damp, and my steps felt heavier the closer we got to the training ground.
"You don't look like someone about to be beaten up badly," Draven said in that calm, matter-of-fact voice of his.
I shot him a doubtful glance. I felt this was his way of trying to ignite my confidence. "You think I won't be beaten up?"
He smiled faintly. "Jeffery's strength is brutal. But if you keep your eyes on his shoulders and not his fists, you will see every move coming. You just have to anticipate. Don't try to block everything—just move. Don't lose focus, Meredith. Not even for a second."
I inhaled slowly, trying to quiet the pounding in my chest.
"Draven…" My voice came out softer than I intended. "Will others be at the training ground to watch me?"
Before he could answer, another voice, deep, calm, and steady filled my head.
"No."
