CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: SURPRISE DRILLS.

          SURPRISE DRILLS 

Daniel waited for me near the front steps of the mansion with his hands tucked into the pockets of his training uniform. He looked relaxed, almost bored, the kind of bored that came from being a warrior who had probably fought real battles while I struggled with basic confidence. His eyes brightened a little when he saw me approach.

“There you are,” he said. “The Alpha told me to walk you down to the training grounds. We start with simple drills today.”

Simple drills. The words alone made my stomach twist.

I forced a smile. “Right. Great. Fantastic. I love simple drills. So simple.”

He squinted slightly. “You sound like someone who hates drills.”

“No,” I said quickly, “I sound like someone who is… mentally preparing. Preparation is a skill.”q

“If you say so.”

We started walking. The path toward the warrior grounds was wide and well trampled, stones packed neatly along the edges. Normally it was a comforting sight. Today it felt like a countdown. Each step a silent reminder of what was waiting for me.

My fingers tugged at the hem of my shirt. I hoped Daniel did not notice the way my hand kept shaking. Years of bullying had drilled a specific rule into my head: never show fear. If you do, they will grab it, twist it and throw it back at you. So I smiled. I made small noises of acknowledgement. I said little things that sounded normal even though my chest was tightening like someone had placed a book on it.

“Have you trained before?” Daniel asked casually. He kicked a pebble off the path with the side of his boot.

The question made my throat do something strange. “A bit. You know. Minor things.”

“What kind of minor things?”

“Oh, you know,” I said lightly, “just the usual. Dodging. Running. Not dying. Very basic.”

He frowned. I did not like that frown. It was the type people made when they sensed something was off. I adjusted my shoulders as if that would realign my mood.

He slowed his pace a little. “You alright?”

“I am fine,” I replied. Too quickly. Too rehearsed.

This was the problem. My voice always betrayed me even when my face stayed perfectly neutral. I hated that. In my old pack, neutrality was survival. Every day at sixteen felt like navigating a battlefield where anything could turn into a weapon. I learned to move quietly. To speak lightly. To pretend.

I tugged my sleeves down. “Really. I’m fine.”

“If you want to turn back, I can tell the Alpha.”

“No. No, really. I want to be here. Training is good. Training is important.”

He studied me for a moment but did not push. I appreciated that. Or maybe I feared it. Sometimes the difference felt the same.

We reached the field. It stretched out wide and open under the afternoon sun. Warriors were already scattered around the grounds, sparring in pairs or practicing throws. Their bodies moved with confidence, with the kind of ease that came from knowing their strength would not be used against them by people who were supposed to be allies.

My palms began to sweat.

I inhaled slowly.

You are fine, Emily.

You are fine.

You are fine.

Daniel stepped onto the field and motioned for me to join him. “We will start with stance. Just footing. Nothing aggressive.”

My anxiety responded by climbing up my throat anyway.

I nodded and stepped beside him. “Footing. Ground. I can do ground.”

“You are acting like the ground might attack you.”

“Well.” I paused. “You never know. The world is unpredictable.”

He actually laughed. His laugh was rough but not unkind. It almost loosened something in my chest.

Almost.

“Alright,” he said. “Stand like this.” He widened his stance and settled his weight evenly. “You try.”

I mirrored him, although not very well. My knees shook a little. My body remembered too much. The training sessions from the past. The voices telling me to push harder. The hands grabbing my arms. The laughter when I stumbled. The words that sliced deeper than claws.

Daniel stepped around me, observing. “Your center of balance is too high. Bend your knees a bit more.”

“Like this?”

“Yes. Better.”

His tone was steady and matter-of-fact, and for a moment I felt slightly calmer. Until the kick drills started.

“Nothing complicated,” he said. “Just raise your leg and push forward. Do not think too hard.”

Thinking too hard was my entire personality.

I lifted my leg and tried one.

It was weak. Embarrassingly weak. A toddler could have pushed harder.

Daniel hummed. “Okay. Again.”

I tried again.

And again.

My muscles trembled more from nerves than exertion.

“You need to relax,” he said.

I forced a breath out. “Relaxing is not my strength.”

“That is becoming obvious.”

He meant it teasingly. I felt it anyway.

Not in a painful way. Just in an exposed way.

Years of conditioning had taught me to hide distress, so I tucked everything tighter again and raised my leg for another kick. If I inhaled too sharply, no one needed to know. If my vision blurred at the edges, I blinked it away before anyone could notice.

Daniel nodded slowly. “Better. Keep going.”

I kept going.

My body moved stiff and awkward, but I did it. I did not stop. I did not ask for a break. I did not show a single crack on the surface.

Because that was the only thing I knew how to do.

After a few minutes, Daniel stepped back and crossed his arms. “You are trying too hard to look calm. It is making you tense.”

I swallowed. “I am calm.”

“You are sweating.”

“It is warm.”

“It is cloudy.”

“Warm clouds exist.”

He stared at me like he wanted to argue but decided he would lose. “Fine. Warm clouds.”

I looked away to hide the tiny smile that tried to form. My chest still felt tight, but something inside it softened for a second. Just a second.

Daniel clapped his hands. “Alright. Next lesson.

Defensive blocks.”

My stomach twisted again. I pushed the feeling down.

I stepped forward, my forehead squeezing together, “Show me.”