SERAPHINA’S POV
The training room clock had long since blurred into meaningless numbers. Hours? Minutes? Time didn’t matter—only the burn in my muscles, the raw ache of my knuckles, the way my lungs screamed for air but got none.
Each jab carried Celeste’s sneer: "You’re not worth the effort."
Every hook bore Kieran’s venom: "You never mattered."
I hit harder. Faster. Letting the pain overwrite them like a virus corrupting old files.
If I stopped, even for a second, I’d hear them. I’d feel the stabbing agony of their words.
I couldn’t afford that. If I let the words sink in, they would take root. Grow branches. Vines. Wrap around me and choke me from within—
"Damn, what did that poor dummy ever do to you?"
I startled, whipping around to find Maya by the door, just like she’d been the first day we met.
I was panting so hard, I couldn’t answer her, and that split second of distraction brought the venom back.
’You were a mistake, Sera.’
I spun back around and continued to attack the sparring dummy. It didn’t have a face, but Celeste’s and Kieran’s kept flashing on the blank canvas, and I hit even harder.
I didn’t know when Maya moved, but the next thing I knew, she had a firm grip on my wrist, pausing my swing.
"You’re going to break your wrists if you keep going like that," she said. "And you’ll burn out."
For a moment, I just stood there, fighting to catch my breath, debating whether struggling against her when I knew I was going to lose was worth it.
Finally, I staggered back, and Maya released me as I slumped down to the mat.
She sank, too, with a lot more grace than I could ever muster. She wordlessly handed me a water bottle.
The sound of me greedily chugging the contents of the bottle filled the room, and when I was done, I felt slightly better.
’Every time I touched you, I pretended you were her.’
I closed my eyes, fighting the urge to scream. Anything to drown out the fucking noise.
"Come on." I looked up to see that Maya was standing again. She had a hand stretched out to me. "We’re getting a drink."
I shook my head. "I’m not in the mood."
She crouched, her brown eyes pinning me. "When your trainer tells you to do something, what is your reply?"
I rolled my eyes, remembering the first rule she drilled into me during our first session. "Maya, this isn’t—"
"What. Is. Your. Reply?"
I sighed. "Yes, Miss Cartridge."
Her lips twitched, and she held her hand out. "Let’s go."
"I smell," I complained weakly.
She wrinkled her nose like she’d just noticed. "You’re right. You do."
She wiggled her hand impatiently, and I finally took it, letting her pull me to my feet.
We sat outside on the patio behind the OTS dorms. Maya procured a fancy bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, which we sipped from plastic cups from the cafeteria, watching the sky deepen into dusk as a cool breeze brushed against our skin.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was actually kind of nice.
Until Maya broke it. "So, wanna tell me why you’re attempting to murder yourself and a sparring dummy on your day off?"
I exhaled, staring down into my cup. I twirled it slightly in my hand, watching the liquid slosh around.
"It’s a long story," I said softly.
She leaned back, folding her arms. "Then you’re lucky I’m a good listener."
I shook my head. "I don’t—"
"Your trainer just told you to do something, Sera."
I looked up at her. Though she had on her usual stern countenance, her eyes held a softness I’d never seen before.
"Yes, Miss Cartridge."
The words tumbled out of me—halting at first, then fast and uncontrollable.
I told her everything.
The mistake I made ten years ago. The night I let my guard down, lost my inhibitions, and committed an irreversible mistake. The punishment that came after—how my family shunned me, how I was branded a disgrace. How I spent the last ten years—alone, unloved, worthless.
I told her about Celeste’s return, about how I’d somehow remained the villain in their story even after the divorce.
I didn’t dare look at her when I finished.
I didn’t know Maya all that well, but she struck me as a disciplined person. Someone upright who valued honesty and hated weakness. I expected her to flinch, to withdraw, to look at me with the same disdain I’d received my whole life.
But she didn’t.
She just let out a soft sigh and said, "You’ve been through hell."
I blinked, my gaze darting to her.
"Of course you’ve made mistakes, Sera. Who hasn’t?" she continued. "But being wolfless—that wasn’t your fault. And that one night? Last I checked, it takes at least two people to have sex, and unless you’re Mary, you didn’t make Daniel all by yourself."
I huffed a weak laugh at that.


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