Page 144 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

Kieran's face shows none of the shadows that now often darken his expression. Whatever experiences carved those lines of caution haven't yet touched the young soldier grinning at the camera with unrestrained enthusiasm.

Dante completes the quartet, his usual swagger already present but tempered by genuine pride in uniform and position. His arm drapes casually across Kieran's shoulders, speaking of brotherhood forged in training and strengthened through shared purpose.

The contrast between then and now catches in my throat.

These young men radiate certainty in their path, their eyes bright with dreams of service and honor. They couldn't know what missions lay ahead, what sacrifices would be demanded, what scars would be carved into flesh and psyche alike.

The shadows stir with understanding, their song carrying recognition of how experience reshapes innocence. They see in these younger faces the price of knowledge – how awareness of true darkness transforms those who fight it.

These alphas still carry that core of dedication visible in the photograph, but time has tempered youthful enthusiasm with hard-earned wisdom. Their eyes now hold weight of countless missions, of battles fought in shadow, of victories paid for in blood and pain.

Somehow that burden hasn't broken them.

Instead, it forged something stronger – a pack bound not just by military precision but by shared purpose and absolute loyalty. The proof surrounds me in this room full of accomplishments and memories, in this home built to shelter both body and spirit.

A movement in the corner catches my attention – what appears to be a carefully constructed nest tucked into a cozyalcove. Various items create an inviting hollow that draws me closer with magnetic pull.

Stuffed animals and colorful plush toys arrange themselves with seemingly random precision, each adorned with different pieces of clothing that trigger immediate recognition. A black dress shirt identical to the one Atlas gave me during escape drapes over a particularly soft-looking rabbit. The fabric still carries traces of pine needles and leather, speaking of careful preservation rather than casual placement.

A navy blue running shirt that must belong to Kieran wraps around a small lion, his scent of sandalwood and berries woven into every fiber. A crisp polo that radiates Dante's cinnamon and comfort decorates a playful-looking fox. Finally, a white shirt that initially triggers memories of sterile spaces until Vale's rain-washed granite and wild mint overcomes clinical association.

The shadows hum with fascination as I settle into this carefully crafted space. My hands find a well-loved teddy bear that somehow carries all their scents combined – a perfect harmony of pack essence that makes something deep inside me uncoil with recognition.

Peace steals over me with unexpected swiftness as I curl deeper into the nest.

Each breath brings new notes of their combined presence, creating a symphony of safety that makes my eyelids grow heavy. The shadows' song fades to gentle whispers as exhaustion pulls with gentle insistence.

Consciousness slips away between one breath and the next, replaced by floating sensation that feels like being cradled in clouds. Some part of me fights the descent, old training demanding alertness even in supposed safety.

My eyes flutter open with effort, confusion rippling through me as I realize I'm no longer in the nest but cradled in Atlas's lap.

His presence radiates steady comfort as his fingers trail across pages of the book he holds, reading through touch what his damaged vision cannot see.

The raised dots beneath his sensitive fingertips translate stories into his mind through careful interpretation.

"Did I wake you?" His voice carries that particular gentleness reserved for quiet moments.

"No," I manage through lingering drowsiness. "I just... wanted to know if it's allowed. Sleeping so much." The question feels foolish even as it leaves my lips, yet years of conditioning make permission seem vital. "I didn't mean to fall asleep, but the room was so comfortable. So warm. And the scents…" Words fail as I try to express the profound impact of their combined essence.

Atlas's arm tightens fractionally around my waist as I relax back against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear provides perfect counterpoint to the shadows' quiet song.

"As a M.U.S.E," the words emerge as a barely audible whisper, "all anyone did was talk about how useless of an Omega I was." My fingers trace aimless patterns on his arm as buried pain surfaces. "I had no scent…couldn't smell other Alphas…it was so easy to believe what they were saying."

I take a deep breath, needing to tame all these various emotions while I confess how all of this makes me feel.

It’s the first time having the privilege of someone listening. Not to write such confessions on a board that deems you insane and having mental decline, but show true compassion, care, and validation.

"Everything feels overwhelming," I continue, words spilling forth like water breaking through a dam. "All these sensations, these scents, these…feelings."

My fingers twist together in my lap as I try to organize thoughts that scatter like autumn leaves.

"I know there's no rush. No ticking clock demanding immediate adaptation. But six years of living on borrowed time makes peace feel like a dream I might wake from at any moment."

Atlas's thumb traces gentle circles against my arm, offering silent encouragement to continue.

"In Ravenscroft, Alphas were just numbers. Designations. Quick assessments between trials to determine compatibility that never manifested." A bitter laugh escapes me. "We weren't meant to know them as people. Weren't supposed to recognize individual scents or develop genuine connections. Everything was clinical. Calculated. Cold."

The truth of my situation settles deeper with each word.

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