Page 136 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

Kieran's growl rumbles through the clearing as rage ignites in his expression, alpha instincts bristling at such a cold dismissal of the pack's newest member.

However, my attention returns to Nyx's motionless form, noting how the temporary oxygen system struggles to maintain adequate support. Her skin carries concerning pallor beneath the remaining gas residue, while her pulse flutters weakly at the exposed throat.

Without hesitation, I strip off my tactical coat and drape it carefully over her still form. Maintaining body temperature becomes a critical priority given significant blood loss and extended exposure to night air.

Each second we delay reduces the chances of successful recovery.

"Kieran, get her to the car now," the command flows naturally despite his visible resistance.

One look silences potential argument – Jinx speaks the truth about time's precious nature, regardless of questions burning for answers. Her cold efficiency serves a purpose, even as it raises disturbing questions about the nature of the relationship between identical twins.

Questions that must wait while Nyx's life hangs precariously in balance. Mysteries require time we cannot spare while death circles ever closer to recently revived prey, seeking a second chance to claim what we barely managed to retrieve from its grasp.

The weight of untold stories and unexplained absences presses against consciousness, demanding attention we cannot currently afford to give.

Whatever circumstances led to this moment –to one sister standing battle-ready while the other fights for each breath–they pale in significance compared to an immediate need for medical intervention.

Yet even as survival instincts demand focus on Nyx's critical condition, my tactical mind catalogs every detail of her mirror image for future reference.

There’s something in Jinx's stance, in carefully maintained emotional distance, that speaks of a deeper game being played.

One whose rules and stakes remain frustratingly unclear in this moment of crisis.

Kieran takes three steps before pausing, muscles rigid with barely contained fury as he looks back over his shoulder. His eyes lock onto Jinx with deadly intensity born from personal experience with betrayal.

"If you don't have positive intentions of being in her life now that she's free, don't bother trying to involve yourself. Remain a fucking ghost than act like you're a real impact on her existence." The words carry weight of old wounds, of trust shattered and bonds broken beyond repair.

Jinx meets his gaze unflinching, the corner of her mouth lifting in an ambiguous expression that walks the line between appreciation and mockery.

The subtle shift transforms her features into something more dangerous than mere tactical efficiency.

"You're like your brother." The casual observation strikes with the precision of a well-aimed bullet, forcing a collective inhale as implications register. Knowledge of Kieran's brother – presumed dead these past seven years after a failed mission left no body to recover – raises disturbing questions about the depth of her intelligence gathering.

Her words suggest intimate familiarity with our histories, with secrets we thought buried beneath years of careful concealment.

The brother who vanished without a trace, whose loss carved permanent scars into Kieran's psyche, somehow connects to this enigmatic figure.

"Same in looks and stubbornness. Ironic."

Each word carries calculated weight, designed to provoke reaction while revealing nothing of substance. Her expression remains carefully neutral despite the past bomb she just detonated in our midst.

Kieran's eyes narrow to dangerous slits, but his response comes measured and precise:

"Stay away from our Omega." The declaration carries no room for misinterpretation – not suggestion but absolute command backed by pure alpha authority.

The possessive claim strikes an unexpected chord, especially from one whose past experience with omegas left such devastating scars. Yet his willingness to overcome personal trauma for Nyx's protection speaks volumes about connections already forming.

His departure carries deadly grace as he rushes toward the waiting van, leaving Atlas and me to face this living puzzle that seems to hold pieces of a past we thought forever lost.

The weight of unspoken questions fills the air between us, mixing with lingering traces of colored gas.

What game is she playing?

How deep does her knowledge of our organization go?

Why surface now, after years of apparent indifference to her twin's suffering?

Each query builds upon the last, creating a web of mystery that demands unraveling.

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