Everything cracked.

  Not the room. Not the walls.

  Them.

  It slammed into Kael’s mind like a wave—hot, loud, and raw. No words. No images. Just emotion. Ugly and real.

  Anger. Pain. Years of being ignored. Locked away. Buried alive in silence. Screaming into walls that never listened.

  It was unbearable. And it wasn’t even his.

  Cole cursed beside him, clutching his head as the shadows curling around his hands fizzled and died.

  Kael staggered one step back, gripping the edge of the broken table. His thoughts scattered like ash.

  He’d trained for mental attacks. Spent years strengthening the walls in his mind, reinforcing them like stone. This wasn’t a clean strike—it was chaos. A storm full of grief and rage and everything in between.

  She didn’t just attack them.

  She made them feel her.

  And then—

  Gone.

  The pressure vanished. Kael inhaled sharply like he’d just come up for air. The room was dead quiet again, like nothing had happened at all.

  Cole leaned against the table, breath heavy, blood trickling from one nostril. “What the hell was that?”

  Kael didn’t answer. He was still trying to piece together the noise in his head.

  And then it hit him.

  That face.

  Wide eyes. That same voice. Stiff posture, too still to be casual.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  His mind flashed to last night—the girl in the hallway. The one Cole asked for wine. The one who dropped the bottle.

  Kael blinked, slow.

  “…Wait a second.”

  Cole glanced over, still trying to catch his breath.

  Kael’s voice dropped. “That was the servant.”

  Cole froze. “The one from the hallway?”

  Kael nodded once, still staring at the empty space she had bolted through.

  “She looked nervous,” he muttered. “I thought she was just scared of you.”

  Cole scoffed. “Most people are.”

  Kael didn’t smile. His mind was still turning.

  “A servant,” he said again. “But she wasn’t. Not really. She was in the room. Hiding. Close enough to listen. Close enough to—”

  Footsteps echoed across the broken floor.

  King Aizen, their father, entered slowly, eyes sweeping across the scene. He took one look at them—both rattled—and narrowed his gaze.

  “She did this?”

  Kael gave a tight nod. “Yeah. Telepath.”

  Aizen didn’t move for a long second.

  “That’s not possible,” he said flatly. “They’re extinct. That bloodline was erased.”

  Cole wiped the blood from his face. “Apparently not.”

  “She was dressed as a servant,” Kael added. “Probably hiding in plain sight. She didn’t even fight until the end. Just listened. Watched.”

  “She got in,” Cole muttered. “In my head.”

  “She got in both our heads,” Kael corrected.

  Aizen stepped forward, boots crunching over broken glass. “Where is she now?”

  “Ran,” Kael said. “Through the far doors.”

  “And no one stopped her?” the king asked coldly.

  “She was gone before we could breathe.”

  A long pause.

  Aizen’s jaw tightened. “Then find her. Alive, preferably. Dead, if needed. Quietly. No stories. If the people hear a telepath survived the purge... we’ll have problems.”

  Kael just nodded.

  But his mind was still spinning.

  She didn’t just survive.

  She learned how to hide. How to weaponize emotion. How to strike without touching you.

  And she did it all without being noticed—until now.

  Cole didn’t say a word. Just stared at the exit with a dark expression Kael had seen only a few times before.

  This wasn’t just a threat.

  This was personal now.