Liam’s POVI never thought I’d be on that field, coaching Leila through punches and footwork. Me, the pack’s fiercest warrior, reduced to a reluctant trainer. But there I was, every dawn, waiting in the clearing while the sky was still gray, breath clouding in front of me, thinking maybe this was the only way to stop hating myself.I checked my stance for the hundredth time. I hated being embarrassed by my own hands shaking. The ground was slick with dew, and I flexed my fingers, steeling myself.Leila arrived just as the sun peeked over the treetops. She looked tired but determined, like she was fighting every step to even stand there. I cleared my throat.“Stance,” I said, pointing at her feet.She shifted, heels apart, knees bent and met my eyes. For a second, I thought I’d see her fear. Instead, I saw steel.“Good,” I muttered.We went through basic strikes, her gloved fists thudding into the pads I held. I barked corrections: “Keep your elbow in!” “Rotate your hips!” “Breathe out
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