Draven.
Morning had barely settled its light over the yard when I stepped away from the house.
I'd changed into my training clothes—black trousers and a loose dark tunic that freed my shoulders and arms—though today, I wasn't the one who would be fighting.
Still, it felt wrong to stand on the sidelines in anything less.
The breeze was mild, brushing across the training grounds and carrying the familiar scent of earth, sweat, and iron.
My boots crunched over gravel as I walked, each step measured, though something gnawed quietly at my chest.
Wanda was already there.
She stood at the center of the grounds, stretching her arms across her chest, her braid pulled tight, clothes fitted close to her body for movement.
She looked up as she heard my approach, surprise flashing across her sharp features.
"Well, this is unexpected," she said, her tone edged with amusement. "What are you doing here, Alpha?"
