The morning broke gray and biting cold, a shroud of mist curling low over the Shadowfang encampment. Every sound carried differently in weather like this boots crunching against frost, the low growl of wolves in their half-shift forms, the metallic clash of weapons being drawn for drills.
I rose early, not from habit but from necessity. Sleep had been a stranger to me for years, coming in snatches and scraps, never a full embrace. My body was weary, but I had long ago learned how to move through exhaustion like it was another layer of skin.
At the water barrel, I splashed my face, the cold burn jolting me awake. My ribs ached from yesterday's drills, a sharp reminder of how little mercy the Shadowfang warriors had for me. Bruises bloomed like violets across my arms, my side, my back. I pressed my palm against one and hissed, not at the pain, but at the thought that they believed I would break because of it.
When I looked up, he was already there.
Kellan.
Leaning against the fence, arms folded, eyes sharp. He was built like stone broad shoulders, heavy muscles, and a jaw too square to ever soften. His grin was slow, deliberate, the kind of grin that meant he had already decided how today would go.
"Morning, stray," he said, voice dripping disdain. "Hope you said your prayers."
I didn't answer. Wolves like Kellan thrived on reaction. Silence was my shield, and I wore it well.
He tilted his head, smirk widening. "No words? Pity. You'll be screaming soon enough." Then he pushed off the fence, boots grinding frost, and walked away.
By the time I reached the training yard, the others were already assembled. Their voices, usually loud with banter and mockery, were hushed today, thick with anticipation. I caught glances aimed my way, sharp and assessing, then quickly turned aside when I met them.
Damien stood at the far end, his presence filling the space like a shadow cast over the entire yard. His arms were crossed, his black coat stark against the fog, and though his eyes swept the group as a whole, I knew he saw me the instant I arrived.
"Drills," he said simply.
We moved. Footwork first boots scraping against the hard ground in synchronized patterns. Then parries, strikes, guards. My muscles screamed from the cold, but movement heated the blood, dulled the ache. I lost myself in rhythm for a time, until Damien's voice cut through.
"Sparring."
Pairs formed quickly, wolves squaring off against their chosen opponents. Then his gaze cut across the yard, pinning someone in place.
"Kellan," Damien said.
The warrior stepped forward immediately, grin flashing. "Against the Silvermoon stray?"
A ripple of laughter rolled through the crowd. My jaw tightened, but I didn't lower my gaze.
Damien's voice was calm, but edged like steel. "Selene."
The yard fell silent. All eyes turned to me.
We stepped into the ring, a rough circle formed by bodies and hungry stares. My breath misted in front of me, rising in small, defiant clouds. Kellan rolled his shoulders, loose and ready, while I kept my stance narrow, guarded.
"You don't belong here," he said conversationally, circling me. "Everyone knows it. The only question is when you'll realize it too."
His first strike came fast a hook meant for my jaw. I blocked, the impact jolting all the way up my arm. Before I could reset, he swept low, his boot cracking against my shin. I stumbled, but caught myself, forcing my balance back.
The crowd chuckled.
Kellan smirked. "Pathetic."
He came again, fists like hammers. I dodged one, blocked another, but his strength was overwhelming. I could already feel the bruises forming, each blow carving into flesh and bone.
"You fight like prey," he sneered, voice loud enough for the onlookers to hear. "That's all you are. Prey waiting to be devoured."
I bit down against the rush of anger. Anger was dangerous it clouded, it distracted. I had learned this lesson too many times in the Silvermoon Pack, where anger only earned me more chains.
But then he said it.
"No wonder your mate's dead. Probably couldn't stomach your weakness any longer."
Something inside me broke.
Not into pieces but into fire.
The next time he swung, I didn't back away. I stepped in. My hands caught his wrist, twisted sharply, and used his own momentum to throw him over my shoulder. He hit the ground with a crash that silenced the yard.
Gasps echoed.
He rolled, snarling, springing back to his feet, rage twisting his face. No smirk now. Just teeth and fury.
He lunged again, fists flying. I took hits hard ones, ones that made my vision blur but I gave them back with everything I had. Elbow to his ribs. Knee to his thigh. A sharp strike to his throat that left him choking.
The crowd roared, some cheering him, others me, the sound a storm around us.
When he swung wide for my head, I ducked low and swept his legs from under him. He hit the dirt again, harder this time. Before he could rise, I drove my knee into his chest and pinned him down.
The breath whooshed from his lungs. I leaned in close, voice low, meant for him alone.
"Don't mistake grief for weakness."
Then I stood, stepping back.
Kellan stayed down a moment too long, humiliation burning across his face. When he finally rose, he refused to meet my eyes.
Damien's voice cut through the silence, calm, unshaken. "Next pair."
Just like that, it was over.
But the air was different now.
Whispers followed me out of the yard. Not all kind never all kind but changed. Respect mingled with doubt now, threading through the pack like smoke. Some looked at me with curiosity, others with resentment, but no one with the same casual dismissal as before.
That night, in the stillness of my quarters, I pressed my fingers against the tender swell of bruises and let myself breathe. Pain was familiar. Pain I could endure.
But for the first time in a long while, I felt something else, fragile and dangerous.
Hope.