Page 148 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

Unable to resist the pull any longer, I close the final distance between us.

My arms wrap around his waist from behind, face pressing between the curve of his back that’s still damp from his shower. The gesture carries more vulnerability than I've shown since arriving, but something about this moment demands honesty.

He doesn't tense at the contact.

If anything, his muscles relax further as if he'd been waiting for exactly this touch. Before I can second-guess the boldness of my action, he turns within the circle of my arms. His hands find my waist with unerring accuracy, drawing me closer as if proximity might ease whatever distress he senses.

"What's troubling our little Goddess?" The whispered question carries genuine concern tinged with something deeper – as if my pain causes him physical distress.

Only then do I realize tears have escaped without permission. The revelation forces my gaze upward, seeking answers in a face I've only seen partially hidden behind silk wrapping.

The sight steals my breath completely.

X-shaped scars mark each eyelid, the silvered lines precise in their cruelty. Someone took deliberate care in marking him, in attempting to steal his sight through calculated violence. The shadows stir with fury at such targeted brutality, their song carrying notes of vengeance denied proper outlet.

If only I knew who possibly could have done this to him.

I’d hunt them down…even if the outside of Ravenscroft is new territory never explored, I would have sought justice in a heartbeat.

Regardless of my internal vows and imagined implications, his eyes themselves capture my complete attention. Though clouded with whiteness that speaks of permanent damage, amber still burns beneath like banked flames of stunning eyes. The color matches perfectly with the photograph of his younger self, though time and trauma have softened its brilliance. Movement flickers in their depths – not completely blind then, but limited to shapes and shadows rather than clear vision.

The discovery feels profound — this alpha who leads with such precision despite damaged sight, who navigates the world through other senses yet never uses his limitation as an excuse or crutch.

The scars speak of torture he survived, of cruelty endured and overcome, of strength forged through adversity rather than broken by it.

My fingers rise without conscious thought, hovering near but not quite touching the marks that forever altered his world. It’s crazy to acknowledge how Atlas's scars echo my own – evidence of torture survived and transcended.

"Who?" The question emerges barely above a whisper, weighted with fury at whoever dared mark him so deliberately. He must see the determination in my eyes. How I’d go across every piece of land, every alleyway and nook just to find the culprit of such permanent wounds that were underserved.

No matter what someone may have done, this level of cruelty shouldn’t be entertained.

Knowing Altas for a few days gave me a strong level of confidence that he was doing something helpful for someone, and the results left this permanent stain of a past.

His slight smile carries no bitterness, only acceptance of the past that cannot be changed.

"Story for another time, little Goddess." His thumb brushes tears from my cheek with impossible gentleness. "Your distress matters more than old wounds."

The deflection should frustrate, but something in his tone suggests sharing will come naturally with time. Just as he never pushes for details of my trauma before I'm ready to offer them, he keeps certain hurts private until trust builds strong enough to bear their weight.

"I'm scared," the admission slips out before wisdom can silence it. "Three days feels like forever and nothing at all. Like I'm finally learning to breathe properly only to face losing everything again."

His arms tighten fractionally, drawing me closer until I can rest my head against his chest. His heartbeat provides a steady rhythm beneath my ear while his scent wraps around us both like a shield against darker thoughts.

"No one takes you back there," the words rumble through his chest with absolute conviction. "Two weeks is a formality, not a true choice. You belong here…with the pack that you’ll get to learn and use. With me…For as long as you choose to stay."

"But what if..." The question catches in my throat, weighted with years of conditioning. "What if I'm not what you need? What if these moments of peace are illusion rather than reality?"

Atlas's hand slides into my hair, cradling the back of my head with infinite care.

"These moments are more real than anything in those sterile halls. Your presence here, your growing trust, your willingness to show vulnerability…it all speaks to strength they tried and failed to break. It presents a process, despite how frightening all this change creates and invites. "

It’s intriguing how he makes it sound so easy despite how I struggle to accept; that survival itself marks victory over theircareful programming, that maintaining capacity for trust despite systematic betrayal speaks to an unbreakable spirit.

"I don't want to wake up," the whispered confession carries years of accumulated fear. "Don't want to discover this has been an elaborate dream. That I'm still their M.U.S.E., still trapped in endless experiments, still..."

His kiss silences spiraling thoughts. It’s not something I’m expecting, but the way my body immediately melts at his touch is undeniably relieving.

Another constant reminder that I’m not broken.

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