CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: LIGHT.

    LIGHT

The training field smells like dirt and sweat and something metallic that clings to the back of my throat.

I notice it immediately because my body remembers this place before my mind catches up. My palms start to itch. Not claws. Just skin, the way it does when I am about to bolt.

Daniel walks beside me, his steps even, like this is another normal morning routine.

“You can stand anywhere for now,” he says, pointing toward the edge of the field. “We will start light.

Light. That word means nothing to me.

I nod anyway.

“Okay.”

He studies my face for a second, like he is checking whether I will argue or panic or freeze. I do none of those things. I learned a long time ago that freezing only made things worse.

Other warriors are already warming up. Some stretch. Some shift partially, letting claws extend and retract as casually as blinking. Their laughter carries across the field, relaxed, familiar.

This is not how it used to sound.

Daniel claps his hands once. “Pair up.”

People move fast. Easy. Like they have done this a thousand times.

I remain where I am.

Daniel notices.

“Stay with me,” he says. “We will start with stance.”

“Okay.”

I say it again because that is my safest word.

He positions himself in front of me. “Feet apart. Slight bend in your knees. Do not lock them.”

I copy him.

“Hands up.”

I raise them.

“Relax your shoulders.”

I try. They do not listen.

Daniel does not comment on it. That alone is strange enough to make my chest tighten.

He circles me slowly, correcting my posture with small gestures instead of touch. I appreciate that more than I want to admit.

“Defense first,” he says. “Offense comes later.”

That makes sense. It also makes my stomach twist because defense was never what they taught me before.

Before, they said standing still was part of training.

“Block,” Daniel says, demonstrating. “You do not need force yet. Just awareness.”

He moves his arm toward me slowly.

I flinch.

It happens before I can stop it. My body reacts first, my head jerking away, hands dropping.

Daniel stops instantly.

He does not step closer. He does not raise his voice.

He just says, “Again. Slower.”

I nod, staring at the ground for half a second too long.

When he moves this time, I manage to lift my arm. It is late. It is clumsy. But it is there.

“Good,” he says.

That word should not affect me the way it does, but something loosens in my chest anyway.

We repeat it, over and over.

Each time, my reactions come a little faster. My breathing still feels wrong. Shallow. Uneven. But I keep my face neutral.

I learned how to do that when I was sixteen.

“Why are you here?” someone asks from behind Daniel.

I look up and see a girl I do not recognize. She has dark hair pulled into a tight braid and a faint scar across her cheek.

Daniel answers before I can. “She is training.”

The girl tilts her head. “For what?”

“For herself,” Daniel says.

She shrugs and walks away like that explanation is enough.

It should be enough.

We move on to footwork. Step back. Pivot. Shift weight.

My legs remember more than I expect them to. That surprises me. My heart stutters when I realize that memory does not always mean pain.

Daniel notices my hesitation. “You have done this before.”

I shrug. “Something like it.”

He does not push.

A whistle blows from the other side of the field. Someone shouts instructions. Laughter erupts again when one of the warriors stumbles.

The sound makes my skin prickle.

Daniel clears his throat. “We will try something else.”

He picks up a wooden staff and hands it to me.

My fingers curl around it automatically. Too automatically.

The weight triggers something sharp behind my eyes.

I swallow.

“Just hold it,” he says. “No one is attacking you.”

I nod.

I believe him. My body does not.

“Strike here,” he says, tapping his own staff lightly. “Controlled.”

I lift mine.

For a split second, the field blurs.

I see a different clearing. Different faces. I hear laughter that is not friendly. I hear someone say, hit harder, maybe it will work this time.

My grip tightens.

Daniel steps back. “Emily.”

I blink. The field snaps back into place.

“Sorry,” I say quickly.

“For what?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

He lets it go.

We continue. Slow strikes. Blocks. Steps. Reset.

I do everything exactly the way he tells me. I do not complain. I do not ask for breaks. I do not let my hands shake where anyone can see.

This is how I survived before.

At some point, sweat drips down my spine. My arms ache. My lungs burn. But it feels different from the past.

No one is laughing.

No one is counting my failures out loud.

No one is watching to see if I cry.

Daniel finally lowers his staff. “That is enough for today.”

Relief hits me so hard my knees almost give out.

“Okay,” I say, steady.

He studies me again. “You did well.”

I look at him. “I did not do anything special.”

He shrugs. “You stayed.”

That lands deeper than I expect.

As we walk off the field, I glance back once. Warriors still train. Dust still rises. The world keeps moving.

My wolf stirs faintly, not awake, not s

ilent either. Just there.

For the first time since arriving here, I do not feel like running.

I do not feel safe yet, but at least, I feel present.

And that might be worse.