The snow didn’t care who you were. Alpha, Omega, or something in between… it bit through skin just the same. Sharp, bitter, and unrelenting. It's called Frost Pack for a reason. I gritted my teeth as I scrubbed the stone floor of the training grounds, fingers raw and red. Beside me, Mira worked in silence, her sleeves rolled high over her elbows, her breath fogging in short puffs. Her eyes were shadowed from lack of sleep. “Don’t slow down,” I muttered without looking at her. “They’ll say we’re slacking.” “I’m trying,” she whispered. “Didn’t sleep.” None of us did, not really. Omegas rose before the moon dipped and stayed up long after it climbed back again. That was the rule. That, and survive. Boots crunched across the courtyard snow, steady and familiar. “Rowan,” Mira breathed, and I looked up. He was wrapped in a thick brown cloak, sword slung casually over one shoulder. His short blond hair was wind-tousled, and even in the harsh light, his face looked annoyingly flawless
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