CIARAN
The sun was high enough in the morning to pierce the mist, turning the training yard into a haze of metal, sweat, and dust.
Wolves cycled in and out of form, their snarls mixing with the clash of wooden sparring swords.
Liam's bellow rose above the noise. "Jace, your stance is garbage—keep your back foot planted unless you'd rather get flattened!"
I paced the perimeter with him, watching my men at work. "If he can't hold his ground here, he won't last a minute in an honest fight," I growled.
"Granted," Liam said, smiling to himself, "but perhaps don't say it to him until after breakfast."
I didn't listen to him.
Strength was just half of the training while discipline was all.
And lately, the morale in my pack had been... lax and unusually unsettled. That kind of vulnerabil
