Page 34 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

Taurus.

The bull. Stubborn, powerful, impossible to break.

She needs a name that captures that essence; that unstoppable quality that keeps her fighting when others would have surrendered.

Riot.

Perfect for someone who turns captivity into rebellion, who makes even silence feel like screaming if it thrives for freedom.

I run through them in my mind, cementing their identities:

Azurite– The Aquarius who turns submission into strategy.

Luna– The Pisces who sees beyond sight.

Riot– The Taurus who refuses to break.

Three survivors.

Three potential allies, but when would we get acquainted? Would an opportunity come where I’d even be able to officially appoint them with such labels of grandeur?

The mechanism beneath us whirs to life, and the cylinder floors slowly rise back into place. It's a test – they want to see if we'll collapse now that we have the option.

None of us move.

Azurite maintains her precise stance, calculating even in relief.

Luna sways slightly but stays upright, guided by whatever sense helps her navigate this hell.

Riot's legs shake with fatigue but her chin lifts higher, turning defiance into art.

Slow clapping breaks the tense silence.

A man in an expensive suit enters the chamber, his applause echoing off glass and steel. His presence makes the white coats straighten, makes them clutch their charts tighter to their chests.

They fear him.

"Bravo, ladies. Simply bravo." The man's cultured voice drips with mock admiration as he paces before our cylinders. "It's so refreshing to see strong specimens in the batch. Makes all this..." He waves a manicured hand at the equipment, the charts, and the lingering evidence of torture. "...investment worthwhile."

Watch him.Learn his weaknesses.

The way the shadows hiss such orders makes me nervous. As if this is critical to get us out of whatever predicament we’re about to be thrown into.

I take in every detail:

The suit costs more than most people make in a year. Italian leather shoes, custom-made. Platinum watch gleaming on his wrist. Not a single blonde hair is out of place. Surgically enhanced features that speak of vanity. Eyes like arctic ice, devoid of warmth

Money. Power. Privilege.

Everything this place pretends to stand for while it breaks us in the name of progress.

"The market for exceptional omegas is quite...competitive these days." His smile doesn't reach those cold eyes. "And you four have proven exceptionally resilient. Perfect merchandise for the right buyer."

Merchandise.

Property.

Things to be sold.

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