The new recruits arrived today—fresh-faced, eager, and oblivious to the weight of war. I stood at the front, arms crossed, watching as they lined up for inspection. Most of them avoided my gaze, sensing the authority that came with my presence.

All except one.

An Omega. Smaller than the rest, with soft features and sharp eyes that didn’t waver when they met mine. Her scent was different—calming, like fresh rain after a storm. It irritated me.

“Name?” I demanded.

“Yuma,” she answered, standing straight.

Her voice was steady, unfaltering. I expected fear. An Omega had no place in a war zone, especially not here, among hardened warriors.

“You’re in the wrong place,” I muttered under my breath.

“I can hold my own.” Her response was instant, confident.

A scoff left me before I could stop it. I had seen too many break under pressure—Omegas, Betas, even some Alphas. The battlefield didn’t care for titles or confidence. But I didn’t argue. If she wanted to throw himself into hell, so be it.