Page 135 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

Even the small scatter of freckles across the nose bridge appears exactly replicated as if the universe decided to present us with a perfect copy of the woman I cradle against my chest.

My enhanced senses capture every detail of this impossibility:

The same emerald eyes with hints of teal.

Identical height and build suggest shared genetics.

Matching small scar at the corner of the jaw.

Similar grace of movement despite combat-ready stance.

Only the tactical gear she wears and the weapon slung across her back differentiate her from our wounded charge. Where one wears Atlas's blood-soaked shirt, this version stands wrapped in professional military equipment that speaks of extensive training and experience.

The forest holds its breath as we process this revelation, this shattering of expected reality. Because somehow, against all logic and reason, we face a perfect mirror of the omega we just brought back from death's threshold.

Two versions of the same woman – one fighting for each breath in my arms, one standing battle-ready before us. The implications send my mind spinning with possibilities too complex to process in the heat of the moment.

Time seems suspended as we wait for the next development, for an explanation of the impossible sight before us. The gas continues its lazy dance through the night air, creating an ethereal backdrop for a scene that challenges every conception of reality.

“Nyx?” I dare whisper the question, knowing damn well the woman whose a copy of the Omega in my arms is not the owner of such a name.

The woman’s expression stays neutral, but she decides to grace us with her name.

“Jinx,” her voice is firm and unforgiving. “Jinx Blackwood.”

22

BENEATH TWIN SHADOWS

~DANTE~

"Jinx," her voice cuts through tension with razor precision. "Jinx Blackwood."

My eyes track every detail of her appearance with tactical assessment born from years of field experience.

Though the previous focus centered entirely on reviving Nyx from death's grasp, this identical figure demands thorough analysis despite the urgent need for medical intervention.

The contrast between the twins strikes an immediate chord – where Nyx's hair flows from dark teal green to magenta ombre, Jinx's coloring reverses the pattern completely. Magenta dominates her roots before cascading into teal green tips, creating a mirror image effect that emphasizes their connection while highlighting fundamental differences in their paths.

Her frame matches Nyx's delicate build, but her developed musculature speaks of extensive combat training and dedicated conditioning.

Tattoos peek through tears in tactical gear, intricate designs partially visible beneath evidence of recent close-quarterfighting. Fresh cuts mark exposed skin, suggesting intense combat concluded mere moments ago.

The sniper rifle slung across her shoulders with practiced familiarity confirms suspicion about the source of gas-releasing rounds that covered our escape.

The most striking difference lies in her eyes – though identical in color to Nyx's extraordinary shade of ivory green with teal undertones, these hold none of her sister's light or warmth.

Something cold and clinical lurks in their depths, as if years of calculated violence have stripped away softer emotions, leaving only razor-sharp efficiency and tactical awareness. Where Nyx's gaze carried hope despite torture, Jinx speaks of the willing embrace of darkness.

"Blackwood?" Kieran's whisper carries a dangerous edge that raises hackles. "You're her sister and yet she's been stuck in this shit hole for six-plus years?"

His question gives voice to the collective outrage burning through our pack. If this woman possessed the resources to mount tactical intervention, why allow her twin to endure years of systematic torture? How many opportunities for rescue passed while Nyx suffered behind Ravenscroft's walls? The implications spark bitter fury in my chest.

We could have found her sooner before captivity carved its brutal lessons into flesh and spirit. Could have offered protection and belonging in those critical early years, and spared her countless scars both physical and psychological. Given her chance at life unburdened by experimental torture and clinical cruelty.

"You're going to waste valuable time asking stupid questions?"

Jinx's response carries no trace of remorse or emotional investment. Her tone suggests such concerns rank far beneathtactical priorities, dismissing years of her sister's suffering as irrelevant to the current situation.

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