Page 30 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

Four still breathing.

Count the living.Know your allies.

The shadows seem to always give me the best advice in desperate situations like these.

My eyes lock onto the cylinder directly across from mine. The omega inside is still braced against her glass walls, much like I am, but there's something different about her.

Her mere appearance even makes the shadows in the depths of my subconscious stir with hidden intrigue like adding her into an equation would be a blessing rather than a curse.

Her hair catches my attention first – a stunning shock of sapphire blue that falls past her shoulders in wet tangles.

The color shifts like midnight waves where it's darkest, an ombre effect that seems almost too beautiful for this place of death and suffering. The wet strands cling to pale skin that's nearly translucent under the harsh fluorescent lights, making the bruises that mottle her flesh stand out like paint on canvas.

Strong. This one survived their games.

The thin white cloth they give all test subjects clings to her tall frame, reduced to little more than wet strings that reveal more than they hide. Unlike most who end up here – emaciated and broken – her body shows signs of careful maintenance.

Lean muscle ripples beneath the soaked fabric, abs clearly defined despite her current state of distress. She's been eating the meals they provide, using what they give her to stay strong rather than rejecting it like I do.

Smart. Smarter than me, maybe.

But it's her face that holds my attention.

Under her left eye, a small star tattoo stands out against her pale skin – a marking that speaks of a life before this hell, of an identity they haven't managed to strip away. Her eyes, though... her eyes make the shadows sing with recognition.

Heterochromatic irises stare back at me, one the color of spring leaves, the other like molten gold.

They're alert despite the trial she just endured, scanning the room with the same calculating intensity I know must be in my own gaze. The blood running down her arms from various wounds tells its own story – they beat her before this test, and tried to stack the odds against her survival.

Yet here she stands, still fighting.

Among the living…like me.

Like recognizes like. She understands survival. Similarities that can’t simply be compromised.

Clearly, the shadows wish for me to make alliances. That could be why it’s important for me to pay attention, though the chances of meeting this woman again could be slim with how this is the first instance of sighting her.

Regardless, she’s relatable enough. I can see it in the way she holds herself, and in how she's positioned her body to minimize strain while maintaining vigilance.

This isn't someone who's given up, who's waiting to die.

This is a predator biding her time, gathering strength, and learning patterns.

Someone I could get along with…at least until we’re put to our own demise.

Blood trickles from a split in her lip, but her jaw is set in a determined line. Fresh bruises bloom across her collarbone, disappearing beneath the sodden cloth, but her spine remains straight.

They tried to break her before throwing her in that cylinder, wanting to see if she'd drown when already weakened.

Instead, she adapted, rewarding her with survival.

The scientists' notes hadn't captured her presence, her...resilience. On paper, she was just another set of data points; a test subject to be measured and documented.

But seeing her now, watching how she maintains her dignity even in these circumstances, I understand why she's one of the four still breathing.

Remember her.She could be useful.

They're right.

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