Mag-log inJuneI wake slowly, like I am rising through thick water.A low, silent groan slips past my lips before I can stop it.Everything hurts.Not a sharp pain. Not one single injury. It is everywhere. My arms ache. My legs throb. My back feels tight and overworked. Even my fingers feel tender when I try to curl them. It is like I have done the most intense workout of my life and every bone and muscle is protesting.I keep my eyes closed for a moment, breathing through it.Whenever I shift back to myself, my body is sensitive for a couple of hours. My skin feels thinner. My nerves feel exposed. The air brushing against me is too much. The soil beneath me feels too rough.This is not new.It happens every time my body changes back to human form.I love that I am different. I do. I love that there is something powerful inside me, something fierce and loyal and strong.I just wish it did not come with such excruciating pain.I swallow and shift slightly, wincing as my shoulder protests.Somewh
June I keep running. With every passing moment my paws touch the earth, my speed increases. It feels natural, like I was always meant to move this way. Muscles stretch and contract with perfect rhythm. Air rushes into my lungs, cool and sharp, filling me with something close to joy. It is exhilarating. The forest opens ahead of me and I weave through it without thinking. I leap over fallen logs. I cut around thick trunks. My body knows where to go before my mind even registers the path. I forget about everything. There are no thoughts here. Just motion. Just wind slipping through my fur and the soft thud of paws hitting soil. I chase nothing and everything at once, simply because I can. This feeling of liberation wraps around me and pulls me forward. Sometimes I wish I did not have to contain this part of me for so long. I wish I did not have to measure my days by how well I can keep her quiet. I wish I did not have to wait for darkness and distance and secrecy. I wish I had
JuneI wake up already tired.Not the kind of tired that comes from sore muscles or lack of sleep. This is different. It sits under my skin, hums in my chest, makes my thoughts sharper than they need to be.The room is quiet when I open my eyes. Pale light slips through the curtains. For a moment, I lie there and stare at the ceiling, trying to breathe through the tightness building inside me.It is too early for this.I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit up. My pulse feels louder than usual. My fingers curl into the sheets, then release. I roll my shoulders, trying to shake it off.Practice starts in thirty minutes.By the time I step onto the training field, the air is crisp and cool. Others are already there, stretching, talking in low voices. I keep to myself like I always do. A quick nod here. A brief glance there.The drills begin.We run first. Laps around the perimeter. My feet hit the dirt in rhythm, breath moving in and out. Normally the motion helps. Normally it
CalebI know I have a temper.It flares fast, burns hot, and sometimes I speak before I think. I have know this all my life. This is how I am.But damn, watching June walk toward Kylie when she was about to shift lights up my fuse like nothing else.We have been told since we were pups to never go near anyone in the middle of a shift. It is one of the first rules drilled into us. Bones break. Control slips. Instinct takes over. Even the gentlest wolf can lash out without meaning to. The outcome can turn devastating in a blink.And June was already too close.Kylie was trembling, her body caught between human and wolf, pain twisting her features. A few people stood back, giving her space. That is what we are supposed to do.June stepped closer.Closer.My chest tightened so hard it felt like something snapped inside me. What was she thinking? Did she not understand the risk?When she took another step, I did not think. I moved.I jumped in between them, my body planting itself like a s
JuneThis is the exact reason I never feel like I belong anywhere.Because sooner or later, you are expected to bend. To soften the edges that make other people uncomfortable. To pretend you did not see what you saw. To hold back because someone with money or a last name that carries weight must not be bruised.You have to be untrue to yourself so someone unworthy can keep their shine.It sits wrong with me.The only place I never felt that way was underground.Down there, under flickering lights and stained ceilings, nobody cared where you came from. Nobody asked who your parents were or what car dropped you off. It was dangerous. It was ugly sometimes. People could be cruel in ways that left marks you carried home.But they were honest.Respect was earned. Not handed out because of a trust fund or a powerful family.The richest man in the room could be knocked flat and walk out a loser. A dirt poor girl like me could leave with cheers ringing in her ears because she earned that spot
JuneBy the time the first session ends, my arms feel like they are filled with sand and my shoulder throbs where Allan’s punch connected. Sweat cools against my skin as the breeze moves across the field. Around me, people stretch, laugh, groan dramatically about sore muscles.There is a lightness in the air. We survived the first round.Sasha claps her hands once. “Good work. That’s it for this session.”A few people cheer quietly. Someone mutters something about finally getting food. The group begins to disperse, bodies turning toward the building, water bottles lifted, conversations already starting.I bend to retie my laces again, tightening them out of habit.“Where do you think you’re going?”Sasha’s voice slices through the movement.Everyone pauses.She stands with her hands on her hips, scanning us like we are a class of children caught trying to leave early. “Your session with me has ended,” she says, her tone sharp but not cruel. “You are not free yet.”A collective groan r







