-Vaughn Blackmore:
Training always starts the same way, but it never feels the same twice.
There's a kind of pressure that builds in the seconds before the instructor even gives the command, like the entire field is holding its breath without meaning to. The ground feels harder under my boots today, or maybe it's just me noticing it more.
My body is already warm from earlier drills, muscles slightly tight in that familiar way that tells me I've been working too long without enough rest, but I don't slow down. I don't adjust. I just moved into position with the others, cap pulled low like always, keeping everything contained the way it needs to be.
The instructor's voice cuts through the air, and everything snaps into motion.
"Start!"
And just like that, the world becomes movement.
We run first, always. Warm-up laps that aren't really warm-ups at all, more like a way to see who breaks early and who doesn't. The ground under us shifts into a steady rhythm of footsteps, uneven at first, then slowly syncing into something more controlled. My breathing falls into place almost immediately. Inhale, exhale, step, adjust, repeat. Nothing extra. Nothing wasted.
I can feel it almost instantly—the eyes.
Not just one. Not just a few.
All of them.
It's not new. It never is. I've been here long enough now that I don't react to it anymore. Alphas watch me the same way they watch a mistake waiting to happen. Like if they look long enough, they'll catch the exact moment I prove I don't belong. At first, it used to get under my skin. Now it's just background noise. Something I run through, not something I run from.
Let them watch.
It doesn't change how I move.
It doesn't change how I stay standing.
"Blackmore, tighten your form!" the instructor calls from somewhere behind us.
I correct immediately without breaking stride, shoulders adjusting, weight shifting slightly forward, and feet landing cleaner. No hesitation. No second thought. My body already knows what to fix before my mind even fully registers the instruction. That's the only reason I've lasted this long here. Not because I'm stronger than them. Not because I'm supposed to be here. Because I refuse to waste time on mistakes I can feel coming.
Around me, the others start to break rhythm in small ways. Someone behind me complains under his breath about the pace being too early, too intense. Another answers with a tired laugh, something about how the camp "loves to overdo everything." Darien's voice cuts in somewhere to the side, half joking, half exhausted, telling someone to shut up and run already before they get worse.
I don't look at them.
I don't need to.
Instead, I just focus forward, on the stretch of field ahead, on the repetition of movement that keeps everything simple.
That's when I feel it again.
The watching.
Except it's not scattered like before.
It's focused.
Heavy in a way that makes my awareness sharpen slightly without me meaning to. I don't turn my head, but I can tell the direction of it now. I can feel it like pressure between my shoulder blades, like someone standing too close behind me without touching.
I already know who it is.
Grayson.
Of course it is, he's the new one here.
I exhale slowly through my nose and keep running.
I don't give him anything to see.
Not yet.
—
By the time the instructor finally calls for a stop, my legs feel heavier than before, but not unstable. Controlled fatigue. The kind that means I pushed enough without crossing the line. Around me, people slow down in uneven waves, some bending forward to catch their breath, others stretching out their arms like that somehow fixes everything.
I roll my shoulders once, letting the tension settle into something manageable before straightening fully again.
Darien jogs up beside me, breathing harder than he should be. "I swear," he mutters, "if this is what every morning is like, I'm transferring myself out of existence."
"You say that every day," I reply.
"Because every day I mean it a little more."
I don't respond. I just started walking toward the locker room with the rest of them.
The building feels different after training. Everything inside is louder than it needs to be. Lockers slamming, water running, overlapping conversations that never fully connect with each other. It's messy in a way that doesn't sit right with me, but I've learned to move through it without reacting.
I keep my cap on even here.
Always.
It's not about hiding my fox's ears. It's just… control. A boundary. Something that stays consistent no matter what else changes around me.
I hear it again as I pass through.
Whispers.
Low enough to pretend they aren't happening, but not low enough to actually hide it.
"…still here."
"…two months in and he hasn't been kicked out."
"…doesn't make sense."
Someone laughs quietly like it's a joke, but it doesn't sound like one.
I ignore it.
I always do.
The showers are quieter. At least for a while. The moment I step under the water, everything else fades out in a way that feels almost necessary. The heat runs over my shoulders, down my back, and I let it stay there longer than I normally would. Not because I need it. Because I can.
For a few minutes, there's nothing to think about except the rhythm of breathing and the simple act of standing still while everything else moves without me.
I don't rush.
I never rush here.
Eventually, I turn it off, stepping out and grabbing a towel, drying off quickly before changing into clean clothes. The cap goes back on immediately. No hesitation. No adjustment. Like it never left.
When I step out of the shower section, something feels off.
Not loud.
Not obvious.
Just… empty.
The locker room is completely quiet.
No voices. No movement. No footsteps. Nothing.
I pause for half a second, scanning the space automatically, checking angles, exits, and presence. It takes a moment for my body to accept that there really is no one here.
Finally.
I exhale under my breath. "Good."
The silence feels rare enough that I don't waste it. I walk toward my locker, pulling it open and sorting through my things without rushing. Clothes that need washing go to the side. Clean ones stay where they are. Simple system. No unnecessary decisions.
For the first time today, nobody is watching me.
Or at least, that's what I think.
I'm halfway through closing the locker when the sound hits.
Sharp.
Heavy.
Metal slamming shut right beside me with enough force to make the entire row vibrate.
My body reacts before I do. A small, instinctive shift backward, shoulders tightening slightly, hand still hovering near the locker door. It's quick. Controlled. But it's there.
I turn.
Slowly.
And I already know before I fully see him.
Ryland.
He's standing there like he owns the space even though he's only just entered it. Posture relaxed, but not careless. Nothing about him is careless. His presence doesn't fill the room loudly—it just settles into it, like it was always supposed to be there.
His eyes are on me.
Not scanning.
Not wandering.
Focused.
There's a pause. A long one. The kind that makes everything around it feel louder than it actually is. I don't move first. I don't break it. I just hold his gaze, keeping my expression steady even though my body is still slightly tightened from the sudden sound.
He doesn't speak immediately.
Just looks.
Like he's studying something that didn't behave the way he expected it to.
Like he's deciding what I am.