The decision is made quietly.
No announcement. No ceremony.
Just a knock at her door the next morning—soft, deliberate.
Aisha opens it to find Callen standing there, already dressed for the day, expression set in that controlled way she’s learned means something serious is coming.
“We’re starting today,” he says.
“Starting what?” she asks, still half-asleep.
“Training.”
That wakes her fully. “I’m not a fighter.”
“I know.”
She frowns. “Then why—”
“Because enemies don’t care,” he cuts in, not harshly, just honest. “And I won’t let you be helpless.”
An hour later, she’s standing in the training yard behind the pack house, the ground packed hard, the air cold enough to sting her lungs. Wolves linger at the edges—curious, skeptical, some openly doubtful.
Aisha swallows. “What exactl
