POV: Bea Sharpe
The younger cadet's scream cut through the Colorado mountain air like a knife.
I was supposed to ignore it. That was the point of the exercise. Elite military training meant learning to tune out distractions, follow orders without question, complete the mission regardless of personal feelings.
But the scream came again, followed by crying.
My hands tightened on the rope course I was supposed to be completing. Below me, fifty feet down, the training ground sprawled across the Sharpe compound. I could see Instructor Davis standing over a group of younger cadets, his posture aggressive, his voice carrying even from this distance.
"Again!" he barked. "You think the enemy will care that you're tired? That your muscles hurt? Drop and give me fifty more!"
The youngest cadet, a girl who couldn't have been more than fourteen, collapsed. Her arms were shaking so badly she couldn't hold a plank position.
"Pathetic," Davis spat. "The Sharpe pack doesn't tolerate weakness."
Something inside me cracked.
I rappelled down the tower fast enough to make my safety instructor shout warnings. Hit the ground running. Crossed the training field in seconds.
"Instructor Davis." My voice came out harder than I intended. "Permission to speak."
He turned, surprised to see me abandoning my own exercise. "Cadet Sharpe. You're out of position."
"The younger cadets need a break." I kept my tone respectful but firm. "They've been training for six hours straight in full gear. Pushing past exhaustion isn't building strength. It's risking injury."
His eyes narrowed. "Are you questioning my training methods?"
"I'm questioning whether breaking fourteen-year-olds serves the pack's interests."
The other cadets had stopped to watch. This was entertainment. The General's daughter publicly challenging an instructor. Everyone knew this would end badly for someone.
"These cadets volunteered for elite training," Davis said coldly. "If they can't handle the pressure, they can quit."
"They're children."
"They're soldiers." He stepped closer, using his height to intimidate. "And you're out of line, Cadet Sharpe. Return to your exercise before I report this insubordination to your mother."
I looked at the young girl still collapsed on the ground, tears streaking through the dirt on her face. At the other cadets watching with exhausted hope that someone might actually stand up for them.
At Davis's smug expression that said he knew exactly how this power play would end.
"No," I said.
Silence fell across the training ground.
"What did you say?"
"I said no." I moved to stand between him and the younger cadets. "Training exercise is over for them. They're dismissed to medical for evaluation."
"You don't have authority to dismiss anyone."
"Then consider it a request that you dismiss them." My wolf pushed against my skin, responding to the threat display. "Or we can wait for my mother to arrive and explain why you're running cadets into the ground hard enough to cause lasting damage."
His face flushed red. "Your mother would support my methods. She built this program on the principle that weakness must be eliminated."
"My mother built this program to create elite soldiers, not broken children." I held his glare. "Dismissed, cadets. Now."
The younger trainees scrambled to their feet and fled before Davis could countermand my order. The girl cast me a grateful look before disappearing into the medical building.
Davis's jaw tightened. "You just made a serious mistake, Cadet Sharpe."
"Yeah," I said. "Probably."
Two hours later, I stood at attention in my mother's office while she reviewed Instructor Davis's formal complaint.
Alpha General Patricia Sharpe was a legend in the supernatural military community. First female Alpha to lead a traditionally male pack. Architect of the modern supernatural tactical training system. A woman who'd fought for every inch of respect in a world that didn't want to give it to her.
She was also my mother, though sometimes I forgot that part.
"Insubordination," she read from the report. "Abandonment of assigned exercise. Usurping instructor authority. Public humiliation of senior staff." Her green eyes lifted to meet mine. "Want to explain yourself?"
"Davis was abusing his authority. The younger cadets were past the point of productive training."
"That's his call to make, not yours."
"With respect, ma'am, it was the wrong call."
Her expression didn't change. "You think you know better than an instructor with fifteen years of experience?"
"I think I know the difference between pushing people to excellence and breaking them for ego." The words came out sharper than I intended. "Those kids volunteered to be here. That doesn't give us permission to destroy them."
Mom set down the report. "Sit."
I sat.
She studied me for a long moment, her Alpha presence filling the office like a physical weight. I'd inherited that presence, that natural dominance that made other wolves submit without thinking. But hers was refined by decades of command. Mine was still raw, uncontrolled.
Dangerous.
"Do you know why I built this training program?" she asked finally.
"To create the best supernatural military force in North America."
"To prove that strength isn't gendered." Her voice held an edge I rarely heard. "When I became Alpha, every male wolf in this pack questioned my authority. Said women were too emotional. Too soft. That I'd lead us to ruin."
I'd heard this story before. But something in her tone made me listen differently.
"I couldn't show weakness," she continued. "Not once. Not ever. Every decision had to be harder, colder, more brutal than any male Alpha would make. Because one moment of compassion would be used as proof that women can't lead."
"So you became what they expected you to fight?"
Her jaw tightened. "I became what I needed to be to survive. And yes, Beatrice, that meant eliminating anything that looked like feminine weakness from myself and this pack."
The use of my full name hit like a warning shot.
"Today, you showed compassion to younger trainees," she said. "You prioritized their wellbeing over following orders. You made an emotional decision in front of the entire compound."
"I made the right decision."
"Perhaps." She leaned back. "But now every wolf who questions female leadership has new ammunition. The General's daughter is soft. She lets feelings override discipline. She can't be trusted to lead when hard choices must be made."
The accusation stung because part of me feared she was right.
"I'm not soft," I said quietly. "I'm strategic. Breaking cadets doesn't make them stronger. It makes them casualties waiting to happen."
"I agree." Her admission surprised me. "Davis's methods are excessive. I've been documenting concerns for months."
"Then why didn't you stop him?"
"Because I needed proof that would stand up to board review." She pulled out a tablet, showing me incident reports and medical evaluations. "Your intervention today gave me the political cover to remove him. The General's daughter standing up for younger cadets plays better than the General cracking down on a popular instructor."
I stared at her. "You used me."
"I gave you an opportunity to learn an important lesson." Her expression softened slightly. "Bea, you're going to be an Alpha someday. One of the youngest female Alphas in our history. And every single decision you make will be scrutinized twice as hard because of your gender."
"That's not fair."
"No. It's reality." She stood, moving to the window overlooking the training grounds. "The world will try to break you. It will use your compassion against you. Call your strength aggression and your sensitivity weakness. You need to learn how to navigate that without losing yourself in the process."
"How?"
"I don't know." She turned back to me, and for just a moment, I saw the woman beneath the General. "I lost myself building these walls. I chose strength over heart because I thought I had to. Maybe I was wrong."
The admission hung in the air between us.
"Your father says strength without heart is just brutality," she continued. "I'm beginning to think he's right. Which is why you're attending Moonrise Academy this fall."
My stomach dropped. "What?"
"You need space from this compound. From me. From the expectations and the pressure and the constant judgment." She returned to her desk. "Moonrise will teach you to channel your emotions productively while maintaining your Alpha strength. It will expose you to different leadership styles. And maybe, possibly, it will help you figure out how to be strong without becoming... this."
She gestured at herself, and the bitterness in the motion broke my heart.
"I don't want to leave," I said, hating how small my voice sounded.
"I know. But you need to." She pulled out an acceptance letter. "Two weeks. Pack your things. And Bea? Remember that compassion isn't weakness. I wish someone had taught me that."
That night, I sat on my bed, staring at the Moonrise Academy acceptance letter and trying not to feel like I was being exiled.
A knock at my door interrupted my spiral.
"Come in."
Dad entered, still in his uniform from whatever mission had kept him away for the past week. He looked tired, older than his forty-five years.
"Your mother told me," he said, sitting beside me. "About Moonrise."
"She thinks I'm too emotional to lead."
"She thinks you're too much like me." His smile was sad. "And she's terrified that the world will hurt you the way it hurt her."
I picked at the comforter. "Did you know about the training abuse?"
"Suspected. Your mother was handling it." He squeezed my shoulder. "What you did today took real courage, Bea. Standing up for those kids knowing it would cost you politically. That's leadership."
"Mom says it makes me look weak."
"Your mom has spent thirty years proving she's not weak. Sometimes I think she forgets there's a middle ground between ruthless and soft." He turned to face me fully. "You know why I fell in love with her?"
I shook my head.
"Because underneath all that armor, she has the biggest heart I've ever known. She just buried it so deep she can't find it anymore." His voice cracked slightly. "Don't do that to yourself, Bea. Don't let the world convince you that caring is weakness."
"How do I be strong enough to lead and soft enough to care?"
"I don't know. But maybe Moonrise will help you figure it out." He pulled me into a hug. "Just promise me you won't build walls so high that no one can reach you. Your mother did that, and it's the one battle I couldn't help her win."
The next two weeks passed in a blur of packing and final training sessions and trying to memorize every detail of the compound I was leaving.
On my last day, the young cadet I'd defended found me in the armory.
"Cadet Sharpe?" Her voice was hesitant. "I wanted to thank you. For what you did."
"It's Bea. And you don't need to thank me."
"Yes, I do." She straightened her spine, trying to project confidence she didn't quite have. "Davis was removed from training. Because you stood up for us. That matters."
"Good." I managed a smile. "Don't let anyone break you, kid. You're stronger than they think."
"So are you." She saluted and left.
I stood alone in the armory, surrounded by weapons and combat gear and all the tools of strength I'd been taught to value.
But the young cadet's words echoed louder than any training exercise.
Maybe strength wasn't about being unbreakable. Maybe it was about breaking and choosing to heal. About being hard enough to fight and soft enough to care.
Maybe I didn't have to be my mother's perfect soldier or my father's gentle soul.
Maybe I could be both.
Two weeks later, I stood beside my parents' car, staring at the winding road that would take me to Moonrise Academy.
"Remember," Mom said, her General voice firmly in place, "you represent the Sharpe pack. Don't embarrass the family name."
"And remember," Dad added softly, "you're more than just a soldier. Don't forget that."
I hugged them both, trying to memorize the feeling of home before I left it behind.
As we drove toward Washington, I thought about all the walls I'd built. The anger I used to mask fear. The aggression that hid desperate loneliness. The armor that kept everyone at a safe distance.