Page 10 of The Moonborn's Curse

A flicker. A breath.

But Hagan felt it like a strike to his ribs.

Then the door closed, and then she was gone.

Chapter 5

Hagan

The training field stretched wide under the sweltering noon sun, a vast expanse of packed dirt and scattered obstacles. The boys ran in a staggered formation, their breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps as they carried sloshing barrels of water on their backs. The weight was punishing, pressing down on their spines with every step.

"Ten laps," Garrik had said, his tone brooking no argument.

He showed no mercy, watching them like a hawk as they lumbered forward, their muscles burning with the effort.

"This is your fault," Dain huffed, sweat trickling down his forehead as he shot Hagan a glare. "Last time. Never again."

"We both know you'll do it again," Hagan shot back, though his voice was strained.

"I hate that you're right."

Veyr, the only one not complaining, grunted in response, his face set in determination. He ran without argument, focusing on pacing himself, his barrel barely shifting with each step.

Dain groaned. "You could at least pretend to suffer with us."

Veyr's only response was another grunt.

By the eighth lap, Dain had started muttering darkly under his breath. "We shouldn't have been caught. That's the real injustice."

Hagan let out a breathless chuckle. "If you were any quieter, maybe we wouldn't have been."

Dain scowled. "You were the one staring at the girl like some lovesick idiot."

Hagan nearly tripped over his own feet. "I was not—"

"Don't bother denying it."

"Shut up and run," Garrik's voice rang across the field, cutting through the bickering like a blade.

By the time they collapsed at the finish line, their legs felt like lead. Hagan lay flat on his back, the sky spinning above him.

Then, Garrik's shadow fell over them, and they knew the worst was yet to come.

"You think this is a game?" he barked. His sharp gaze cut through them, but it landed hardest on Hagan. "You think being a prophecy child makes you untouchable? That you're different?"

Hagan's stomach twisted. He did not like to disappoint.

"You could die just as easily as any other werewolf," Garrik continued, his voice like iron. "The Forsaken wouldn't care who you are. If you go sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, you'll end up nothing more than a corpse in the dirt."

The words stung, but Hagan swallowed back his retort. He had learned long ago that Garrik's lectures were not just for discipline—they were meant to keep them alive.

Still, as Garrik turned to walk away, Hagan pushed himself up on shaky arms and asked, "What happened to them? The woman and the girl?"

Dain turned his head slightly, interest piqued.

"They looked hungry," Hagan added, wiping sweat from his brow.

Garrik paused, then exhaled through his nose. "I'm not heartless," he said. "They've been given a flat in communal housing and food. The Tribemother saw to their comfort herself."

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