Page 43 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

My initial probe bounces back so hard it nearly crashes my system.

"Playing hardball, are we?" I mutter, cracking my knuckles as I settle in for a real fight. This is my element, where physical limitations mean nothing and pure intellect rules supreme.

The hours blur together as I dive deeper, each layer of security more intricate than the last.

Ravenscroft's general information comes easily enough – staff records, supply manifests, and maintenance schedules. But anything involving Patient 495 or her ward is locked behind encryption that would make NSA analysts weep.

A pattern emerges as I work: four high-security sectors, each protecting data about specific patients. Four omegas were deemed valuable enough to warrant this level of digital fortification. The realization makes my blood run cold.

What the hell are they doing in there that requires this much protection?

My coffee cup scrapes against the desk as I reach for it absently, muscle memory seeking caffeine. The liquid that touches my lips is scalding hot, nothing like the cold dregs I expected.

I jerk back, cursing as the burn registers.

"Wait." I frown at the steaming cup, mind rewinding. "When did I..."

"About twenty minutes ago," Atlas's voice comes from behind me, making me startle. He's perched on my bed, one leg crossed over the other in that impossibly elegant way of his. A small earbud dangles from his right ear, his audiobook apparently paused mid-narrative.

I stare at him, then at the coffee, then back at him.

The digital clock on my monitor reads 3:47 AM.

"How long have you been here?"

"A while." His lips quirk in that subtle way that means he's amused by something only he understands. "You were rather engrossed in your hunt."

That's putting it mildly. My neck creaks as I stretch, muscles protesting hours of stillness.

"How do you do that? Move around like you're not blind as a bat?"

A soft chuckle escapes him.

"The same way I made your coffee exactly how you like it – two Splenda, four cream, sweet enough to give a dentist nightmares. I pay attention."

"You do more than pay attention," I grumble, taking another careful sip of the perfectly prepared coffee. "The way you navigate this place, you'd think the blindfold was just a fashion statement."

Atlas shrugs, the silk band across his eyes shifting slightly with the movement.

"The world is more than what we see. Sound, scent, air pressure, vibration – they all tell stories if you learn to listen."

"Stories like whatever's playing in your ear?" I gesture toward his dangling earbud, then feel foolish for the motion he can't see.

But he seems to sense it anyway.

"Ah, yes. Rather appropriate, actually. A tale of omegas in captivity and their rescue by mysterious alphas in glowing masks." His head tilts thoughtfully. "The parallels to our upcoming mission aren't lost on me."

A laugh escapes me, raw and genuine.

"What, are you trying to manifest some grand pack romance? Looking for our fairy tale ending?"

"If it works, it works." He says it lightly, but something in his tone suggests he's only half joking. "Though I suspect our reality might prove more complicated than fiction."

I turn back to my screens, where Ravenscroft's secrets still taunt me from behind their digital walls.

"Reality usually is. Speaking of which, this place... there's something wrong here, Atlas. The security they've got around these omega patients – it's beyond anything I've seen outside of top-level government facilities."

"Wrong how?" He leans forward slightly, all traces of amusement vanishing.

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