Page 25 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

It’s inhuman…but then again, those who participate in such don’t have the mundane rationality. You might as well label them monsters cause only sinister pieces of shit would go so far as to hurt females who can’t defend or protect themselves.

All because they’re Omegas.

"Whatever it is, we'll handle it," I say, more confident than I feel. "That's what we do best."

Vale snorts.

"Sure. Because we're such a functional group. One guy who can't hear right, another who can't see, me with my fucking useless legs, and you with your?—"

"With my what?" I challenge, voice dropping low.

He meets my gaze steadily.

"With your ghosts."

Ghosts.

Honestly, it’s funny as fuck to label them that, but then again, haunting memories that constantly nag you to remember the past are as close to ghosts as you can label them.

That or insanity.

Either way, he’s right.

Fair enough.

"We make it work," I say after a moment. "Atlas may be blind, but his other senses are sharper than any of ours. Dante's half-deaf but he reads body language better than anyone I've ever met. You might be losing your legs, but your tactical mind is unmatched. Don’t forget your sniper skills."

"And you?" Vale asks quietly. "What's your superpower, ghost man?"

I think about the broken pack bond that still aches in my chest. About the way, it shaped, changed, and made me something colder.

More brutal and unforgiving…

"Survival," I say simply. "We all carry that superpower."

You have to label it as that in the field we’re in because at the end of the day, not everyone survives. Not everyone is given the privilege to live another day in this cruel world, despite howhard and desperately they fight to grasp those last few seconds before their heart finally comes to a standstill.

Vale is quiet for a long moment, considering.

"True enough. But our weaknesses matter too. Especially when it comes to omegas."

The word hangs in the air between us, loaded with meaning.

Painful memories we don’t need to concern ourselves with.

"It's been years since any of us have properly interacted with one," he continues. "What happens if we get dropped into that kind of situation? If we have to extract one who's been..." He trails off, but I know what he means.

One who's been broken.

Tortured.

Turned into something both less and more than human.

Like the ones we keep finding in these facilities, looking at us with dead eyes and feral snarls. Those where we have to use those last resort techniques to give them some sort of level of peace.

Putting them down like dogs…because there’s nothing left to save.

"Doesn't matter," I say roughly, gathering my things. "Our Pack doesn't need some omega trying to worm their way in. Batting their eyes and playing sweet just to sink their claws in deeper."

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