Page 68 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

Taking a measured breath, I pull my second laptop closer, positioning it carefully in the center of my workspace. This one is completely isolated - no speakers, no integrated connections, nothing that could potentially link it to our other systems.

Some might call it paranoia, this level of digital segregation. But I've learned the hard way that sometimes the worst betrayals come from trusted sources.

Like the time I thought I could trust Marcus.

The memory rises unbidden — Marcus, Dante's older brother, the alpha who'd seemed so perfect on paper. Who'd taken me under his wing when I first joined the agency, teaching me the intricacies of pack dynamics and mission protocols.

Who'd used that trust to nearly get us all killed.

I still remember the moment it all went wrong.

The mission that should have been routine, the security systems that suddenly turned against us, the trap that nearly claimed all our lives. Later, we discovered that Marcus had sold us out, and had used my trust in him to gain access to our systems.

Had used my own code against my pack.

The betrayal had nearly destroyed us. Not just physically - though the injuries from that mission had been severe - but emotionally. The knowledge that someone we trusted, someone we considered family, could turn on us so completely...

It changed something fundamental in how we operate.

Changed Dante who ended things off with a bullet that should have gone through that fucker’s heart instead of keeping him groaning in agonizing pain.

Dante held a moment of pity in his heart, and that’s why Marcus is still alive and breathing.

Then again, Marcus has plenty of skeletons in the depths of his closet, stacked up reminders of how he lost his entire pack…including his Omega.

The past molds the present, which is why I’m like this now with my organized system of technology.

Now every system is compartmentalized, all connections carefully monitored, and every potential vulnerability obsessively secured.

I won't let my trust become a weapon against my pack again.

Not ever.

My fingers move across the keyboard, initiating the final series of security protocols. Each keystroke is deliberate, each program carefully isolated from the others. Layer upon layer of protection, built from lessons learned in blood and betrayal.

The screens before me show different aspects of Ravenscroft's security - camera feeds, guard rotations, and power grid status. But unlike before, when I might have linked everything into one seamless system, now each feed runs independently.

Harder to manage? Yes.

More time-consuming? Absolutely.

But also impossible to compromise with a single breach.

I check the time again.

Fifteen minutes until the teams reach their positions. Fifteen minutes to ensure every failsafe is in place, every backup plan ready, and every possible angle covered.

The pain in my legs spikes suddenly, a sharp reminder of my body's ongoing betrayal. I grip the edge of my desk, riding out the wave of agony while keeping my eyes fixed on the screens.

Can't afford distractions now.

Not letting physical weakness compromise mental strength.

I force my attention back to the screens, back to the work that needs doing. The other laptop hums to life, displaying the deeper layers of Ravenscroft's security - the systems too dangerous to connect to our main network.

Through my earpiece, I hear the teams beginning to move into position. Their voices are professional now, focused, all earlier tension set aside in favor of mission readiness.

I pull up the building schematics one last time, reviewing the entry points and escape routes I've mapped out. Each possible path has been analyzed, each security measure accounted for, and any potential complication planned for.

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