Page 174 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

Such a brief time shouldn't create such a profound transformation, yet evidence stares back at me with undeniable clarity.

The woman in the reflection barely resembles the one who escaped Ravenscroft's walls.

Though exhaustion still lingers in subtle ways, the improvement proves striking. Dark circles that once dominated beneath my eyes have faded to barely noticeable shadows. My skin glows with health born from proper nutrition and genuine care rather than clinical maintenance.

The gothic-inspired makeup – my first real attempt at cosmetics – adds dimension I never knew possible. The style suits me in ways I wouldn't have predicted, discovered through careful study of reference images and gentle experimentation.

My stomach remains empty save for morning coffee, a deliberate choice rather than anxiety-induced aversion.

No point consuming real food when it will likely make a reappearance during whatever "welcome back" reception awaits. Better to face a potential beating with an empty stomach than risk additional humiliation.

"Alright," I announce to the room, turning from my reflection to face reality.

My gaze finds Vale first, the sight of fresh tears on his cheeks sending sharp pain through my chest.

They've all been crying – evidence lingers in red-rimmed eyes and lingering tension – but his grief carries raw edges of guilt I wish I could ease.

Kieran stands beside his wheelchair, hand resting on Vale's shoulder in a gesture that offers support while clearly needing it himself. The steady squeeze of his fingers speaks volumes about shared pain and mutual comfort.

Atlas and Dante maintain positions at opposite ends of the room, their stance carrying military precision that feels appropriate for this moment of farewell. They stand like honor guard preparing the final salute, the formality somehow making this easier to bear.

I summon the best smile possible, knowing drawn-out goodbyes will only make this harder. Better to keep things simple, and clean – like removing the bandage in a single swift motion rather than prolonging inevitable pain.

"See you soon?" The words emerge barely above a whisper, my voice breaking on the final syllable that transforms the statement into a question.

Atlas's response carries the weight of absolute conviction.

"We'll be right there, causing havoc and mayhem. Until our last breath."

My attention catches on the mark decorating his neck, proudly displayed by the v-neck black shirt that defies his usual preference for high collars. The sight sends a fresh ache through my chest – he's wearing my claim like a badge of honor rather than a shameful scar.

A trophy rather than a burden.

The realization draws a watery smile as I offer a silent nod before heading toward the door. Each step carries me past their positions, giving me one final chance to memorize their unique scents:

Atlas's pine needles and leather.

Vale's rain-washed granite and wild mint.

Kieran's sandalwood and berries.

Dante's cinnamon and fresh-baked comfort.

The combination wraps around me like a farewell embrace, a final reminder that the M.U.S.E. designation they branded me with holds no power anymore. That label belongs to a different person – one who existed before discovering what genuine pack bonds feel like.

My hand finds a doorknob with steady certainty that belies trembling in my heart.

Just as fingers begin to turn metal, Kieran's voice shatters carefully maintained composure.

"Fucking hell I can't do this shit!"

I glance back to find him already halfway down the hall, moving with desperate speed that carries him several steps before he freezes mid-stride. The color drains from his face as if he's seen ghosts materialize before him.

"What the fuck?" His voice carries notes of confusion and dawning horror. "W-Why?"

Confusion furrows my brow as I try to understand his reaction. The question barely forms in my mind before he speaks again:

"Nyx. There's two of you again."

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