Meredith Weston sat on the edge of her narrow bed in the dim glow of the chamber's single lantern, the weight of her silver armor pressing against her shoulders like an unwelcome reminder of her duties. Beside her, Lloyd May held her in his arms, his black hair tousled from the day's activities, his toned body radiating a warmth that cut through the chill. He looked at her with those steady blue eyes, the kind that seemed to see right through her polished facade.
"Meredith," he said softly, his voice carrying that confident edge she had come to expect from him. "I'm sorry. Truly. You've been carrying so much alone. It's not right. You deserve more than that. You deserve someone who loves you, who'll take care of you."
