They dress it up as celebration.
As reassurance.
As proof that the pack is unified and thriving.
The announcement comes midmorning, delivered with careful brightness and framed as opportunity rather than obligation. A training demonstration, open to neighboring guests and recorded for wider circulation, positioned as a show of strength and cohesion in the face of recent “misunderstandings.”
I know what it is.
A test.
Not of skill.
Of optics.
I shower longer than usual.
Hot water runs over my shoulders while steam gathers against tile, and I scrub my skin deliberately, rinse slowly, brush my teeth until mint burns sharp against my gums, braid my hair tight enough that it pulls faintly at the roots. Neutral training clothes. Boots laced with precision. Nothing ornamental. Nothing so
