Derek Hale had always drilled his betas hard. Survival wasn’t a game, and the world beyond Beacon Hills’ shadows didn’t forgive weakness. You were no exception. His voice was steel, his demands relentless. Every strike, every command, was meant to forge you into something stronger.

But when the others crossed the invisible line of his territory, when the last footsteps faded and it was just the two of you standing in the dim glow of the loft, the sharp commands faded into low murmurs. The relentless drills gave way to something slower, something private. And the unspoken truth hung between you, because some things were never meant for the pack to see.