Siena’s POV
The competition hall smells like sweat, metal, and a faint trace of pine drifting in from the open windows.
It’s a chaotic symphony of sound: the clang of weapons being tested, the murmur of hushed strategies, and the occasional burst of laughter from cocky warriors who think they’ve already won.
My pack stands behind me like a wall of quiet resolve, their presence steady but not flashy. Windhowl doesn’t need flash.
We’ve always been about substance. But as I look across the room at Raiden, his arm slung around Lila like she’s some trophy he’s already polished, I can’t help the bitter twist in my stomach.
His gaze locks on me, cold and sharp, like he’s trying to peel away my skin and see the doubt underneath.
I square my shoulders, refusing to give h
