Draven's building had a private dining room on the sixth floor that I had never been in.
It was the kind of room that communicated exactly what Draven communicated — understated, excellent, the specific warmth of someone who understood that the best spaces held people rather than impressing them.
He had set it for nine.
Me, Zevran, Otto, Sera, Tobias, Fenn, Cael Orin, Bettany — who had received her invitation with the nod she gave all significant information and had shown up in a dress that told me she had been waiting to be invited to something like this — and Sable, who had crossed the Jawline again and was standing near the window looking at the west-side view with the expression of someone cataloguing a new elevation for calibration purposes.
Nine people.
The people who mattered.
