LOGINJuneThis 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
June Fortunately, I am paired against a guy. Relief slips through me before I can stop it. It is not that I look down on girls. Strength is not owned by any gender. I have met girls who can knock the air out of a room with a single punch. But I know my own power. I know how much force I carry in my limbs, how quickly instinct can take over. And when I glance at some of the girls in our group, I see hesitation in their eyes. Not all of them. A few look eager, focused. But others shift their weight nervously, their smiles tight. If I had been paired with one of them, there is a real chance I would have hurt them without meaning to. I do not want that. Not even for Mean Barbie and her circle. The guy standing across from me is built like a wall. Broad shoulders. Thick arms. Veins running along his forearms like cords. He looks like he inhales steroids for fun and washes them down with protein shakes. He studies me, and I can practically hear his thoughts. She is small. She is light
JuneI do not get it. What is his problem?The question loops in my head as I tighten my grip on the barbell and push through another rep. My muscles burn in a way I understand. That kind of strain makes sense. Lift. Breathe. Lower. Repeat. There is comfort in the rhythm.Caleb does not make sense.It would have been easy to avoid him if he were just another trainee. A random face in a crowd. But he is not. He walks through this place like it belongs to him, like the walls recognize him. People listen when he speaks. They move when he moves. That makes him impossible to ignore.And for some reason, he seems to be taking a special interest in me.I rack the bar with more force than necessary and sit up, reaching for my water bottle. My heart is pounding, but not just from the workout.Maybe some other girl will catch his attention. That would solve everything. He can focus on someone else. Smile at someone else. Stare at someone else like he is trying to read through their skin.Yes. T
CalebI trail a few steps behind Jake and Lucas as we head toward the dining hall, the morning air still cool against my skin. My shoes echo softly on the path, familiar sounds that usually fade into the background. Today, everything feels sharper. My senses refuse to settle, like my body is bracing for something it already knows is coming.Lucas walks with his hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, humming something under his breath that I do not recognize. Jake is beside him, posture easy but alert in the way only he can manage. They are a couple of steps ahead of me when Lucas suddenly turns around, walking backward without missing a beat.He flashes me a grin that is pure trouble and then lifts his hand, showing me his middle finger with pride.I snort despite myself and shake my head. Idiot.Lucas laughs and spins back around before Jake can smack the back of his head for it. This side of him only comes out with us. Anyone else gets the sharp observer, the quiet thinker who notic
CalebMorning creeps in through the narrow window like it owns the place. Pale light slides across the floor and climbs the wall, catching on the edge of my dresser and the rumpled blanket on my bed. The academy is quiet in that early way, right before breakfast when everyone is either half awake or pretending they are not.I stand in front of the mirror, tugging on a clean shirt, staring at my own reflection without really seeing it.Her scent is still there.That is the problem.One inhale. That is all it took. One breath in that bathroom, thick with steam and heat, and now it feels like my lungs remember something my mind never asked for. Every time I breathe, it is like my body is waiting for it again, searching for something it already knows it cannot forget.I press my palm flat against the dresser and force myself to breathe slower. It does not help. The scent is not actually here, yet it clings to me anyway, woven into memory in a way that feels unfair.It is ridiculous how on







