CHAPTER 393: FINALLY GOING HOME

(Third Person).

Meredith smiled softly, brushing a lock of dark hair from the child’s face. "I was, but see? I’m all better now."

The girl’s eyes widened. "Really?"

"Really."

Relieved, Xamira grinned. "Then come! Daddy said breakfast is ready!"

Meredith chuckled. "Alright, let’s go."

Then, she took Xamira’s hand, and together they walked down the corridor toward the dining hall.

When Meredith stepped into the room, she found Draven seated at the head of the long table. Dennis and Jeffery were at the table as well.

The smell of roasted meat, fresh bread, and coffee filled the air.

Draven looked up the moment she entered, his dark eyes softening. "You’re awake," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," she replied, taking a seat beside him. "I’m completely healed, actually."

He gave a small nod, satisfaction flickering across his face.

Xamira climbed onto a chair next to Dennis, who smiled and helped her to some fruit.

Draven’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, pride showing in the subtle curve of his mouth, before his attention shifted to the large TV mounted on the far wall.

The television displayed a sleek news studio, where a woman in a red blazer sat behind the anchor’s desk, her tone composed but firm.

"Breaking news," she announced. "Mayor Brackham has officially revoked Duskmoor’s state of emergency. Citizens are now free to return to their normal routines as the threat of the recent monster attacks has been eliminated."

The screen shifted to show Brackham standing at a podium, flanked by his advisors and senators. His expression was solemn, though his eyes gleamed faintly with practised composure.

"My dear citizens," Brackham began, his voice heavy with feigned grief, "last night, our city suffered a terrible tragedy. Innocent lives were lost to the bloodthirst of the vampire invaders."

He paused, lowering his head as though in mourning. "To the families of those who perished, you have my deepest condolences. Duskmoor grieves with you. But rest assured—your government stands with you. You are not alone."

Meredith’s lips pressed together as she watched him. The man’s performance was flawless—every word carefully chosen, every pause deliberate.

Brackham continued, "Our forces are working tirelessly to ensure your safety. The vampires have been driven from our lands, and I promise you—they will not return. From this day forward, we will rebuild stronger, safer, and united under one purpose: to protect Duskmoor."

A wave of polite applause followed from the audience gathered behind the cameras.

Draven’s expression was unreadable. He picked up the remote and turned off the TV. The sudden silence in the room was almost deafening.

Dennis leaned back in his chair, scoffing. "Wow. This old man is unbelievable."

Jeffery raised a brow. "You mean ungrateful."

Dennis shook his head, his tone sharp with irritation. "Exactly. Not even a word of thanks for the people who actually saved his precious city."

Draven leaned back slightly, his jaw tightening, but his tone calm. "That goes to show you what kind of person he is."

After breakfast, the dining hall settled into an almost reverent silence.

Xamira’s cheerful chatter faded as her nanny came forward, bowed respectfully to Draven and Meredith, and gently led the little girl away.

The other servants moved quietly around the long table, clearing dishes and setting down trays of dessert before retreating with low bows.

When the doors finally closed, only Draven, Meredith, Dennis, and Jeffery remained.

Draven leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady as it moved from one familiar face to the next.

The golden light spilling from the tall windows fell across the table, glinting faintly off the polished wood.

"I believe we can all see what is coming," Draven began, his tone calm but firm. "Brackham’s speech was nothing more than false peace, and he doesn’t know that. The vampires will attack Duskmoor sooner than any of us are expecting."

Dennis straightened, his usual smirk fading into something more serious. Jeffery’s brow furrowed slightly, his eyes fixed on Draven, waiting.

Draven continued, "We don’t have time to be caught unprepared." He turned to Dennis. "Order the chauffeurs to fill the tanks of all vehicles—every last one—and make sure they store extra barrels of gas in the reserve."

"Yes, Brother," Dennis replied immediately. "I will see to it right away."

Then Draven’s gaze shifted to Jeffery. "Inform our people. Everyone who owns a car must fill their tanks before noon. They are to pack up their belongings and be ready for departure."

Jeffery nodded sharply. "And the others?"

Draven rested one arm on the table, his fingers tapping once against the wood. "From this evening onward, they can all begin arriving here. They will be safer within these walls."

Meredith, who had been quietly tracing the rim of her glass, lifted her head. "You’re planning to accommodate all our people in the estate until the war begins?"

Draven turned his gaze toward her, his expression softening slightly. "Yes."

"Why?" she asked, though her tone carried more curiosity than doubt.

Draven’s voice was steady, but beneath it was the weight of foresight. "Because when chaos begins, not everyone will find us easily. Some might lose their way, others might be caught in the fighting, or worse, delayed long enough to die. I won’t risk that. If they are already here before the war begins, we can move together when the time comes."

Meredith nodded slowly, understanding. "You’re thinking ahead."

A faint, knowing smirk touched his lips. "I always do."

Dennis leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Looks like we are all finally going home."

Jeffery gave a short nod. "And not a moment too soon."

---

By afternoon, the mansion that once echoed with quiet elegance had become a hive of activity.

The scent of polish and dust hung faintly in the air, mingling with the soft thuds of footsteps and the rustle of boxes being sealed.

Meredith stood in the upper hallway, her eyes sweeping over the long stretch of corridor where servants hurried past, carrying stacks of books, framed paintings, and neatly packed trunks.

The rhythm of their movements filled the house like a pulse—urgent, alive, and unrelenting.