Page 127 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

Specifically, regulations surrounding alpha deaths on shared property.

"That wounded guard you're transporting," I inject urgency into my voice. "The one I persuaded to aid my escape. Both innocent of wrongdoing." My eyes lock onto his, driving home the implications. "Kill them, news spreads before dawn. How many eyes turn toward your carefully hidden omega exchanges then?"

Calculation flickers across his features as reality sinks in. His gaze shifts to the alphas, mouth tightening with frustrated acknowledgment.

Got him.

"Leave now.” There’s no room for debate in his voice. “Whatever happens next isn't my concern."

Vale's attempt at defiant response dissolves into an agonized grunt as fresh spasms wrack his legs. Atlas's face contorts with strain – torn between impossible choices.

Save newly discovered omega.

Or protect the pack brother of countless years.

Watching conflict play across his features ignites certainty in my chest. Spinning around, I drop swiftly to my knees, before pressing the truth into the air between us.

"Protect who's been in your life longest. You know exactly who matters more between Vale and me."

"No-" Atlas's protest dies as I press my finger against his lips.

"I never had an alpha see me as worth saving before today," emotion threatens to choke my words. "You're the first…and if you're the last, I'll die content knowing what it means to feel protected. To feel safe."

His jaw clenches beneath my touch, fury, and helplessness warring across usually controlled features. The gun's aim never wavers as the owner watches our exchange with odd fascination.

Time crystallizes around this moment of choice – life balanced on the knife edge of sacrifice and salvation.

Turning from Atlas's anguished expression, I raise my hands in surrender while approaching the facility owner.

Each step ignites a fresh fire in my left side, but I push aside the agony as I make my slowed retreat back to one of the key instigators of this grand fiasco.

All my suffering starts with this man. The owner of this establishment who thinks of us as nothing but property to be sold, collected, and offered to what must be the highest bidder.

The reality of returning to those sterile halls, to endless experiments and clinical torment, settles like lead in my stomach.

After everything I went through…am I not deserving of a happy ending?

Half the distance is covered when a gunshot cracks through the night air – the owner's weapon flying from his grip in an explosion of metal and curses.

I flinch back instinctively as he reaches for a backup weapon, I grab my knife, flicking the blade out into position before darting it right into his arm first. His scream of agony barely registers before another sniper round whistles past, erupting in clouds of dark green and magenta gas.

"NYX!" Atlas's call pierces through chaos, spurring me into motion. Racing back to where he holds position, confusion ripples through me at his choice to maintain ground rather than seek cover.

His hand closes around mine while somehow keeping Vale balanced across his shoulders.

"This way!" The command flows naturally as I take point, veering left as more sniper rounds impact around us. Each hit spawns fresh streams of colored gas, obscuring visibility while raising questions I can't afford to contemplate.

The longer route becomes a necessity rather than a choice – standard paths compromised by whatever counter-assault unfolds. My legs grow increasingly uncooperative, exhaustion warring with determination as I force myself forward.

Releasing Atlas's hand creates a tactical advantage, freeing him to better distribute Vale's weight while navigating treacherous terrain. Every footfall crunches through autumn leaves, creating an audible trail for him to follow despite his blindness and the surrounding bedlam.

Through narrowing vision, I spot a cluster of vehicles – two standard vans flanking one in matte black.

"There! The vans!"

Slowing pace, I direct Atlas to prioritize Vale's evacuation. His hesitation bleeds through tense muscles, but I cut off the potential protest.

"Making sure we're clear of pursuit."

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