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Something true.

Something I've spent years learning to hide.

The woman staring back at me from the polished black stone carries expression of calculated vulnerability I use to manipulate Alpha protective instincts. Another reflection reveals the cold analyst who assembled this pack through systematic psychological manipulation rather than genuine attraction or designation compatibility.

A third mirror shows the frightened girl who still wakes from nightmares about institutional torture and systematic conditioning.

The one I pretend doesn't exist.

The one whose terror drives every strategic decision despite careful facades of confidence and tactical capability.

Corvus moves through this psychological minefield with predatory grace that speaks to intimate familiarity withenvironmental systems and technological capability. Enhanced perception allows navigation despite visual distortion and emotional amplification that threatens to overwhelm rational thought.

His dark eyes find mine through the chaos of reflected truth with accuracy that makes my stomach clench.

He sees everything.

Always has.

That's why his mark beneath my eye carries weight beyond simple territorial claiming or pack identification.

He chose to protect me from systematic excavation while simultaneously claiming the right to psychological access whenever circumstances demand revelation.

Cruel and compassionate in perfect synthesis.

"Blood activation completed," he announces with clinical precision while gesturing toward the next barrier requiring genetic confirmation and physical sacrifice. "Psychological assessment commencing."

The declaration transforms reunion into systematic procedure.

Understanding that advancement demands more than simple navigation or tactical cooperation, that Pack formation requires comprehensive honesty rather than strategic manipulation or calculated performance.

My hand trembles as I approach the blood sensor.

Not from fear of physical pain but recognition of what psychological revelation might expose to pack members whose loyalty depends on carefully maintained illusions about my motivation and emotional investment.

What if they discover the truth?

What if they learn that strategic assembly served systematic manipulation rather than genuine recognition or designation compatibility?

What if they realize their Omega selected them as tools rather than partners?

The thought terrifies more than any institutional torture or systematic conditioning.

Physical pain ends.

Emotional rejection proves eternal.

My palm finds the sensor surface with reluctant precision, genetic confirmation registering immediately through technological analysis and administrative verification.

Blood flows across crystalline interface while my psychological state triggers additional environmental response through embedded monitoring systems.

The mirrors react to mounting anxiety with systematic amplification.

Every fear becomes visually manifest through surface manipulation and technological enhancement.

Every carefully hidden truth emerges through reflection that transcends simple optical physics to encompass psychological excavation.

I see myself as they might see me if facades crumble completely.