Page 71 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

I make my decision, encrypting the files I've downloaded and storing them in a secure partition. This information is too volatile and dangerous to risk transmitting now.

Better to wait, to see how things play out.

To be ready with the truth if we need it.

With five minutes remaining on the countdown, I make one final sweep through the files, determined to gather every piece of intelligence I can before the breach closes.

That's when I see it.

Her picture.

The breath leaves my lungs in a rush, like I've been punched in the gut. My eyes widen as goosebumps race down my spine, every hair standing on end as I stare at the image before me.

Those eyes.

Dark green, deep as forest pools, hauntingly familiar. The same eyes that have lived in my memory for years, that appear in dreams I try to forget when I wake.

"It can't be," I whisper, but there's no denying what I'm seeing.

The woman from that autumn day.

The one surrounded by a canvas of fall leaves in impossible shades of ivory and magenta. The one who carried the scent of my grandmother's cupcakes - that perfect blend of childhood memories and impossible possibilities.

The omega I let walk into that van, to never be seen again…until now.

My hands shake slightly as I lean closer to the screen, drinking in every detail. She's different now - years of captivity and experimentation have left their mark - but the core of her beauty remains untouched.

It's like looking at a masterpiece that's been through fire but somehow retained its essential grace.

The guilt hits me first, memories of that day rushing back with painful clarity:The white van waiting in that surreal valley. The moment our eyes met across the distance. The choice I made to stay put, ignoring every instinct screaming at me to follow.

All these years, I've carried that regret.

Wondered what might have happened if I'd acted differently, if I'd trusted my gut instead of my training. If I'd chased after her like every fiber of my being wanted to.

Would she be here now, trapped in Ravenscroft's depths?

Or would she have been spared from this ongoing nightmare?

The questions tear at me as I study her image. Despite everything they've done to her, despite the horrors she's endured, she's still breathtaking. There's a strength in her features that wasn't there before - something forged in pain and survival that only enhances her natural beauty.

My finger traces her face on the screen, a gesture as futile as it is involuntary. All these years of wondering what happened to her, of carrying that moment of connection like a wound that never quite healed.

And here she is.

Patient 495.

Nyx Blackwood.

The omega whose scent haunted me with memories of my grandmother's magical cupcakes.

The one I failed to protect.

The reality of what she's endured these past years makes me physically ill. Each detail in her file is another nail in the coffin of my guilt.

I could have stopped this.

Prevented six years of suffering.

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