Elena’s POV
I should not have been staring. But there I was, stuck in the corner of the training field, my eyes glued to everything happening like it was a movie I couldn’t pause.
The green training field was alive with noise—the thud of fists against red practice dummies, the clash of wooden staffs, the sharp orders from Grandpa Marcus echoing across the yard. Everyone moved with purpose.
Wolves trained to fight. Wolves trained to win.
And me? I just stood there, clutching my arms like a tourist who took the wrong bus.
Maribelle was in the center, and honestly, she was a sight. She moved fast, her strikes clean, her stance strong. The kind of strong that made me remember how many times she had shoved a jar into my hand because apparently I was the “strong one” when it cam
