The breaking period: Day 5,478 of my bullshit life
"Move faster, human!"
I'd have been worried about Bima's screaming if I had any fucks left to give.
Spoiler alert: I didn't.
"Aye, aye, SIR," I said, gasping as I completed another lap around the training grounds while the rest of the pack watched like I was dinner theater.
Pack Mahardika's training grounds were beautiful in that "ancient torture chamber meets outdoor gym" aesthetic. Perfectly maintained grass, state-of-the-art equipment, and absolutely zero compassion. The morning sun made everything look golden and peaceful.
It was a lie.
Bima—future Gamma warrior and current pain in my ass—crossed his massive arms and glared down at me. At six-foot-five of pure muscle and rage, he was exactly the kind of guy who peaked in high school and never got over it.
Except werewolves didn't have high school. They had "the pack," which was somehow worse.
"You're slowing down the entire group," he snarled.
I looked at the "entire group" currently doing stretches and chatting. No one looked particularly slowed down. In fact, they looked pretty fucking relaxed.
"My bad," I wheezed. "I'll just... activate my nonexistent werewolf speed."
Someone snickered.
Bima's eyes flashed yellow—his wolf surfacing because apparently I was that annoying. "Drop and give me fifty."
"Fifty what? Reasons why I'm still here? Because honestly, I'm drawing a blank."
The snickering stopped.
Everyone froze.
Even the birds seemed to shut up, which was probably smart because Bima looked like he was about to commit a murder.
As a competent woman with analytical abilities and a strong sense of self-preservation, I recognized my chance of surviving the next thirty seconds was less than 20 percent.
Do it. Just snap my neck and get it over with.
Clearly, I had no control over my intrusive thoughts.
"Fifty push-ups," Bima growled. "Now."
I dropped to the ground before he could drop me there himself.
My arms shook by push-up number three. By number fifteen, I was pretty sure I was having an out-of-body experience. By number thirty, I was convinced this was how I died—not dramatically in battle, but pathetically during a training exercise while everyone watched.
"Pathetic."
I didn't need to look up to know who said it.
Raka Mahardika. Alpha heir. Future leader of Pack Mahardika. Current holder of the "Biggest Asshole" award three years running.
He stood at the edge of the training circle with his twin brother Rivan, both of them looking like they'd stepped out of a werewolf wet dream catalog. Tall, muscular, stupidly attractive with those sharp jawlines and dark eyes that could probably convince people to commit crimes.
I hated them.
"Is there a reason she's still here?" Raka asked, like I wasn't literally right there, arms trembling, face in the dirt.
Bima shrugged. "Alpha's orders. She stays."
"She's human," Raka said the word like it was a disease. "She contributes nothing. She's slower, weaker, and she doesn't belong."
Forty-three. Forty-four.
I started counting odd numbers backward from one hundred because focusing on anything else would mean acknowledging that he was right.
Ninety-seven.
"We've had this conversation," Rivan said, his voice quieter but no less cutting. "Father has his reasons."
Unlike his brother, Rivan hid his cruelty behind pretty words and a charming smile. He was the "nice twin"—which meant he was a liar and a coward.
Ninety-five.
"Those reasons don't make sense anymore," Raka snapped. "She's a liability."
"Maybe she just needs more training," someone suggested weakly.
It was Elara, the youngest Mahardika brother. He crouched at the edge of the group, watching me with something that almost looked like concern.
I didn't trust it.
"More training?" Raka laughed, cold and sharp. "You can't train someone with no wolf. It's like trying to teach a fish to climb a tree."
"That's not how that saying works," I muttered into the dirt.
Fifty.
I collapsed, lungs burning, arms useless.
"Get up," Bima ordered.
I stayed down.
"I said get up."
"In a minute." I sucked in air and tried to remember why I was still doing this. Why I stayed in a pack that hated me. Why I subjected myself to this daily humiliation.
Because leaving meant admitting they were right.
Because my parents died to keep me here.
Because I was stubborn as hell and refused to quit.
Boots appeared in my line of vision. Expensive leather, perfectly clean.
Raka.
"You're wasting everyone's time," he said quietly. Cold. Final. Like he was discussing the weather, not my entire existence. "Do everyone a favor and leave."
I pushed myself up slowly, deliberately. My arms screamed in protest. Everything hurt.
I looked him dead in the eye. "No."
His jaw tightened.
"Training's over," he announced to the group. "Except you." He pointed at me. "You stay and run laps until I say stop."
"Cool, cool. How many laps we thinking? Ten? Twenty? Should I just run until I die? That's probably the goal, right?"
Rivan sighed like I was inconveniencing him by existing.
The group dispersed quickly, clearly thrilled to escape before things got worse. Only Elara lingered, earning a sharp look from Raka.
"Go," Raka ordered his youngest brother.
Elara's eyes met mine for a brief moment. Something flickered there—sympathy? Pity? Guilt?
Then he walked away.
They always did.
I stood alone in the training grounds with Bima watching like a prison guard and the Mahardika twins staring at me like I was a stain they couldn't scrub out.
"Run," Raka commanded.
So I ran.
Ninety-three.
I counted backward through every lap.
Ninety-one.
My lungs burned. My legs felt like they'd fall off. Sweat poured down my face.
Eighty-nine.
This was my life. Every day. Wake up, get screamed at, run until I puked, get screamed at more, do menial tasks for the pack, collapse into bed, repeat.
Eighty-seven.
"Why are you still here?"
I didn't realize Elara had returned until he was jogging beside me, matching my pathetic pace easily.
"Glutton for punishment," I gasped.
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
He handed me a water bottle without slowing. I took it, suspicious but too thirsty to care if it was poisoned.
It wasn't.
"They're going to summon you," Elara said quietly. "The elders. Tomorrow."
My stomach dropped. "Why?"
"I'm not supposed to know." He glanced back at where Raka and Bima watched us. "But I heard them talking. They want you to sever your ties with the Moon Goddess. Leave the pack. Live with humans."
I nearly tripped.
"What?"
"I'm sorry," Elara said, and he actually sounded like he meant it. "I don't know if there's anything you can do."
"Why are you telling me this?"
He smiled sadly. "Because someone should."
Then he was gone, jogging back to the main compound like our conversation never happened.
I stopped running.
Stood there in the middle of the training grounds, breathing hard, water bottle in hand.
Tomorrow they'd tell me to leave.
Tomorrow they'd make it official—I didn't belong.
The sun was setting, painting the sky in oranges and purples. Beautiful and completely indifferent to my impending doom.
"You done?" Bima called.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm done."
I walked back to my tiny room in the pack house—more closet than bedroom—and collapsed on the bed.
Tomorrow the elders would tell me to go.
Tomorrow my life would change.
But tonight?
Tonight I was still here.
Still Pack Mahardika.
Still the girl who refused to quit.
I stared at the ceiling and started planning.
If they wanted me gone, I'd leave on my terms.
Not theirs.