Lina

I roll my shoulders back and breathe through the burn, letting the ache settle into my muscles instead of fighting it. The training hall smells like leather, sweat, and old pine—comforting in a way only places built for survival ever are.

“You’re holding tension in your neck,” Stevie says, circling me like a patient predator. “Relax it, or you’ll telegraph every move.”

I huff a laugh and try again, loosening my jaw. “I’m relaxed.”

My Lycan snorts inside my head. You are absolutely not relaxed.

Shut up, I mutter back, but she’s right.

She usually is.

This week has been weird.

Not the bad kind, but still different enough...