Page 126 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

"Training grounds. Designed to look like an escape route. Hidden pit beneath leaf cover. They use it repeatedly." Years of observation pour forth in clipped phrases. "Seen too many omegas fall. Those blankets of leaves are a trap. A thirty feet drop."

Which isn’t pretty nor is it recoverable. If you fall into that hole, no one is expected to retrieve your broken-boned body back from its depths.

It was what some of the Alphas called the “Open Grave”.

"Alternative? Need the van." His response carries equal efficiency.

“North East from here,” Vale calls out. “It shouldn’t be far from here.

I direct Atlas right while Vale rasps details of the coordinates from his position across Atlas's shoulders. Recognition clicks instantly – the circular meadow wrapped in ancient trees where I'd hidden during winter trials.

I can recall how painfully annoying those trials were, especially in nothing but a thin medical gown offering no protection from bitter cold.

Those torturous hours of frostbite now guide our escape.

Past suffering transforms into present salvation.

Movement catches my enhanced vision – multiple threats converging on our position. Training takes over as I draw both guns, years of conditioning flowing through muscle memory.

"Down!" The command carries no room for argument as I pivot to face approaching danger.

My body moves with fluid precision, every motion guided by instinct and experience. These aren't simulated threats ortraining exercises – real bullets fly as guards recognize their chance to eliminate me, Patient 495, permanently.

Each shot finds a lethal mark, bodies dropping in rapid succession as I clear our path. The familiarity of violence should disturb me, but survival permits no space for moral examination.

At some point something skids past me, slicing through my side, but not necessarily puncturing. I ignore the sizzling pain that follows, needing to keep focused on the threat that unfolds all around.

I know Atlas can’t protect himself the way he’d want to, not at the expense of Vale, which leads me to step up in this heated moment of bullets that fly all around, fighting to take me out at every fleeting second.

But I’m faster.

A final person remains when both clips run empty, cosmic irony painting a perfect target on my chest.

Recognition freezes my blood as I meet his gaze – the exquisite suit matched with that prideful grin, the sight reminding me of the man who certainly had involvement with our continued captivity for whatever selfish reason.

"Fuck," the curse escapes as I maintain position between the researcher's aim and the alphas behind me, empty weapons still raised in futile defiance.

No ammunition, options, or choice of surrender.

As if I’ve offered this bastard the option to mock this dead end in sight with the gun in his grip, ready to pull the trigger and end it all.

His cruel smile widens, savoring power over his prized experiment.

"Rather impressive survival rate up to this point, Patient 495." The gun remains perfectly steady in his practiced grip."But I can't have you making a mockery of my multimillion-dollar establishment."

Atlas curses, muscles bunching as he tries to rise despite Vale's weight. The sharp click of the safety disengaging freezes him mid-motion.

"One move and your precious omega takes a bullet through her heart," the boss who I assume must be the owner of this place carries absolute conviction.

My mind races through possibilities before settling on a desperate gambit.

"Fine. Take me back…but let them go."

He tilts his head, considering the offer with academic interest.

"Why should I care about their fate?"

Knowledge surfaces from countless mandatory study sessions on alpha dynamics – rules and laws governing pack interactions beyond Ravenscroft's walls.

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