The training field was already humming with activity when Lyra arrived, the air thick with dust, sweat, and the rhythmic thud of boots hitting the earth. The warriors sparred under the sharp eye of the instructor, and several pack members rushed around organizing weapons, crates of supplies, and other essentials for the upcoming drills.
Lyra, like every morning, went about the chores that had been assigned to her—silently, without protest, even though she was no longer just an Omega doing grunt work. But still, the habit stuck like second skin. She didn’t question the labor; she simply carried it.
She was struggling with one of the heavier supply crates when a shadow fell over her.
"You're going to break your back," Kyson's voice came, not mocking—just curt, slightly annoyed.
She froze
