The Alpha's Stolen Luna

Kaya

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

I ask Samantha while watching her tighten the laces on her sneakers. Today, instead of our usual one-on-one training session, she suggested I finally join the others for the group warm-up and run. It’s been over a month since I arrived, and while I’ve made noticeable progress in physical endurance, the idea of stepping into a crowd still presses heavily on my chest.

"Don’t get me wrong—I’m happy to continue our sessions," she says, brushing her braid over her shoulder with a smile. "But Oliver and I both think your progress has hit a bit of a plateau. A little healthy pressure from competition might help push you further."

She blinks at me cheerfully, but all I feel is a tightening in my gut.

Competition, huh? I suppose the only real way to measure growth is to compare yourself to others.

As we step onto the training grounds, I immediately feel the weight of dozens of gazes.

Some look away after a single long, probing stare. Others keep their eyes on me, whispering behind hands, their expressions laced with curiosity or disdain—as if I’m some rare creature on display in a glass box.

I tell myself not to let it get under my skin. I’ve been here long enough. If my presence still bothers them, that’s on them—not me.

Wow. That’s a bold thought, Kaya. I click my tongue, almost amused at the strange, defiant shift in my mood.