Page 118 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

The crash hit without warning –legs simply ceasing to function mid-stride.Only my training prevented a completecollapse, muscle memory guiding me to this relative safety before total paralysis set in.

Now I can't even feel my legs beyond the violent spasms that wrack them. The pain pulses in time with my thundering heart, each beat sending fresh waves of agony through nerve endings that scream in protest.

The tactical part of my mind catalogs my situation with brutal clarity:

Compromised mobility, limited communication, exposed position, and dwindling options.

The static-filled chatter in my earpiece proves the others are coordinating something, but the words remain frustratingly unclear. Calling for help isn't just a matter of pride anymore – it's literally impossible with failing equipment.

This could very well be my end, trapped in the heart of an enemy facility with no way to signal my location.

The irony tastes bitter on my tongue.

After surviving so much, pushing past every limitation my disease imposed, to die here because I couldn't follow simple orders...

Pure irony…

Yet I can't summon proper guilt for my choices.

The serum bought me an hour of restored strength – that time slot spent hunting those who hurt her, eliminating threats that might have blocked her path to freedom.

If the price is my life, perhaps it's worth paying.

A fair trade, maybe.

My remaining years exchanged for her chance at escape.

The thought barely forms before her scent hits me – that impossible blend of vanilla cream and dark chocolate, of childhood magic and pure possibility. The sweet aroma wraps around my senses like a physical caress, making my head spin with recognition and need.

Fate, it seems, has a cruel sense of timing.

To taunt me with her presence now, when I'm helpless to move, helpless to reach for her, helpless to do anything but drink in that sweetness that haunts my dreams.

The memory of her photograph burns behind my eyes – the defiance in her expression even after years of torture unlocked the strength that radiated from every pixel.

My guilt surges fresh and hot as I recall how I'd defiled that image, spilling my release across her digital face in a moment of shameful weakness.

But what alpha wouldn't break for her?

What man could resist such perfect temptation?

Those eyes that seemed to see straight through to my soul, that face that combined delicate beauty with hardened survival, that body that spoke of power carefully contained...the combination proved impossible to resist, especially knowing she was the one who'd haunted me since that autumn day.

The omega who got away.

The one I failed to protect.

The ghost whose scent never quite faded from memory.

Footsteps approach with ghostly stealth, forcing me to strain my ears through waves of pain. The sound barely registers – more whisper than impact, suggesting whoever stalks these halls moves with practiced silence.

Perhaps they've removed their shoes, adopting tactics for maximum stealth while hunting prey through Ravenscroft's sterile corridors.

My heart stumbles through erratic rhythms as acceptance settles deep in my bones.

Death comes for me in these final moments, and though anxiety claws at my chest and fear whispers through my thoughts, I bury those instincts beneath layers of conviction.

This was my choice.

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