Page 133 of Knot Their Fated M.U.S.E

The bruising across my knuckles from recent violence creates a stark contrast against her pale skin—evidence of systematic brutality marking gentle contact with the reminder of the costs extracted through institutional entertainment and systematic control.

But she accepts the damaged touch without hesitation or concern, recognition transcending physical evidence of suffering to acknowledge intention rather than circumstance.

"I'd hold on until my very last breath if I have to," I promise with quiet intensity that carries judicial authority despite personal context and emotional content.

Not simple romantic declaration but a commitment statement that acknowledges choice made and price accepted for pack loyalty that transcends tactical necessity or designation obligation.

The words settle between us with weight that speaks to understanding shared despite years of separation and systematic interference—recognition that some connections survive impossible circumstances through deliberate preservation rather than simple biological imperative.

Her eyes hold mine with intensity that suggests similar commitment despite systematic conditioning and institutional manipulation designed to prevent exactly such bonds from forming or surviving extended separation.

In this moment, suspended between institutional hell and uncertain future, pack recognition reasserts itself with forcethat makes six years of judicial isolation feel like necessary preparation for reunion that validates every choice made and every price paid.

The chamber around us fades to irrelevance beneath perfect certainty that whatever challenges Press has orchestrated through systematic manipulation and calculated cruelty, we face them together rather than as isolated subjects whose capabilities serve institutional entertainment rather than genuine connection.

This is what makes systematic resistance worthwhile despite impossible odds and calculated opposition.

A temporary safe haven of our own nature, regardless of the walls that surround us or the forces that seek to tear apart what choice has created.

The conviction settles deep in bones that have carried nothing but suspension and systematic weight for too long—understanding that transforms judicial precision from mechanical compliance into protective devotion that serves connection rather than institutional requirement.

The revolution has already begun in this suspended moment between separation and reunion.

TWENTY-SEVEN

THE PRICE OF ENHANCEMENT

~JINX~

The metallic taste of adrenaline still coats my tongue as I take inventory of my current state—standing upright, conscious, and miraculously not convulsing on the floor like some malfunctioning experiment.

"I haven't passed out or seizured yet," I announce with cautious optimism that feels dangerous to voice aloud, "so maybe that's some growth."

The words barely finish leaving my lips before Riot and Sable exchange one of those loaded Alpha looks—silent communication that speaks to shared concern and tactical assessment I'm apparently not privy to despite being the subject of their obvious evaluation.

Great. Nothing like being discussed in Alpha sign language while standing right here.

Without warning, both of them crouch down simultaneously with movements so perfectly synchronized it would be choreographed if it weren't so ridiculous. Their knuckles rap against the concrete floor with deliberate precision—knock knock knock—as if summoning whatever cosmic forces govern institutional irony and pharmaceutical side effects.

Are they seriously knocking on wood right now?

I give them my best withering stare, arms crossing over my chest as I channel every ounce of exasperation their superstitious display deserves.

"Haha, very funny," I deadpan, voice dripping with sarcasm thick enough to cut with institutional cutlery. "I forgot you guys are sometimes douches."

Their responding smirks carry identical satisfaction that suggests my irritation provides exactly the entertainment they were seeking—Alpha amusement at Omega expense disguised as protective concern and tactical caution.

Typical.

Riot straightens first, his gaze shifting to Sable with expression that carries genuine warmth beneath surface assessment of physical condition and systematic damage accumulated through institutional separation.

"It's good to see you’ve survived the unthinkable, I'm sure," he states with characteristic directness that acknowledges judicial capabilities while recognizing the psychological toll that suspended existence extracted through systematic isolation and mechanical routine.

Sable's response emerges with matching sincerity despite professional facade that judicial training maintains even during personal interaction and pack recognition.

"Likewise," he acknowledges before his silver eyes narrow with tactical consideration that transcends simple reunion to encompass strategic planning and objective assessment. "What will happen next?"

As if the room itself has been eavesdropping on our conversation with institutional precision, the door slides open with pneumatic finality that transforms speculation into immediate reality.

---