Quiet sessions in the woods behind our house. Sparring with dull blades and worn gloves. Long hours of drills until my arms ached and my legs buckled. I was barely thirteen when we started, and I'd hated every second of it at first.
Now? It was the only time I ever felt like I had a chance.
That was our plan for tonight too. He wasn't on patrol, which meant we'd get in another round before bed.
We didn't say much on the walk home. We didn't need to. The silence between us had long since become comfortable. Communicative, even. A language of its own.
When we reached the front steps of the house, the porch light flicked on. The door swung open before we even got the chance to knock, and then—
"Daddy! Sely!"
Rhea.
Barefoot and wrapped in one of her cartoon-print blankets, she came flying out the door like a rocket, practically tackling me with a hug and then rushing to dad before I could even recover. She did this every night, like clockwork. Her joy never changed. Never dulled. No matter how rough the day had been, she greeted us like we were the best part of her world.
Honestly? We probably were.
Lilian followed behind her with a towel over her shoulder and a wooden spoon in her hand, a smile on her face despite the flour dust on her shirt and the faint look of fatigue around her eyes.
"There you two are," she said. "You're later than usual."
"Last-minute report," Dad muttered, patting Rhea on the head as she chattered about how she'd made a paper wolf mask today and wanted to wear it tomorrow even if the teacher said no. "Alpha requested all patrol leaders stay behind."
I didn't say anything. Just stepped into the house and let the warmth wrap around me.
Our home was small. The furniture didn't match. The couch had a tear in the cushion. One of the kitchen cabinet doors hung slightly crooked. But it was ours. Every scratch, every creak in the floorboards, every scuff on the walls—we knew them all.
And somehow, they comforted me.
It wasn't fancy. But it was safe. And that was more than most omegas could say.
As we stepped inside, Lilian ushered us toward the living room, telling Dad that dinner would be ready in half an hour. He nodded and went to his room to change into training gear.
I lingered for a moment, watching as Lilian helped Rhea pick up a trail of toys she'd left scattered across the floor.
We didn't have much. No luxuries. No fine clothes. No money for extras. But we had this.
Us.
A mother who loved fiercely, even if she wasn't my blood.
A father who taught me to fight, even if the world thought he shouldn't.
And a sister who ran to hug me every day like I mattered more than the moon.
No rank could replace that.
No wolf could give me what they gave me.
So yeah… it wasn't perfect.
But it was mine.
And I loved it.
A few minutes later, I changed into my training clothes—black leggings and a tight-fitted shirt, my hair tied back in a braid—and met Dad out back. The night air had chilled. The stars were clear. The moon, bright and full, hung low in the sky, watching us like a silent witness.
We trained in the clearing behind our house. It wasn't much—a patch of dirt surrounded by trees—but it had enough space to move, to breathe, to hit without holding back.
Dad was already stretching when I arrived. He looked up and nodded. "Start with stance."
We didn't talk much during training. No unnecessary words. Just movement. Focus.
My arms were sore from cleaning earlier, but I pushed past it. I was used to ignoring pain by now. Pain was nothing. Weakness was worse.
We sparred with fists tonight. No weapons. Just basic drills, footwork, combinations. He struck slow at first, letting me block, counter, move. Then faster. Sharper.
I missed a dodge and took a hit to the shoulder, stumbling back.
"Again," he said calmly.
I nodded, reset my footing, went back in.
I got in a good hit to his ribs. Light, but clean.
He grunted in approval. "Better."
We kept going.
Again and again.
Strike. Block. Dodge. Breathe.
My muscles burned. Sweat clung to my skin. My braid stuck to the back of my neck.
And for just a little while, I wasn't an omega.
I wasn't wolfless.
I wasn't broken.
I was just a body in motion. A girl learning to survive.
When we finally stopped, I dropped to the ground, breathing hard, heartbeat thudding in my ears. Dad sat across from me, wiping sweat from his brow with his sleeve.
"You're getting faster," he said.
"I have to."