Meredith.
"Do it. Flip the table. They deserve it."
The words echoed through my mind like a lingering whisper, pulling me from the depths of sleep.
I inhaled sharply, my body tensing as my eyes fluttered open. My gaze darted across the dimly lit room, my chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.
It took me a moment to realize—I had been dreaming.
A slow exhale slipped past my lips.
I pressed my palms against the soft sheets, grounding myself as the hazy remnants of the dream clung to the edges of my mind. But as I sat there, the voice's words replayed again, dragging me back to the banquet hall—the laughter, the insults, the burning shame of the spilled wine.
My fingers curled into the sheets.
Had I really been about to flip the table? Would I have actually done it if Draven hadn't stopped me?
I hesitated before whispering internally, Was that my wolf?
The thought sent a ripple of something—hope, fear, uncertainty—through my chest.
