Chapter 3

"What does this do?" I choked out. "Besides making me look like a pet?"

Sloane smirked. It was a jagged, dangerous look that didn't touch her eyes. "It's a Truth-Binder. You lie, it tightens. Lie big enough? It snaps your windpipe. Simple, right?"

I swallowed. The collar hummed against my carotid artery like it was alive. I wasn't a guest anymore. I wasn't even a prisoner. I was property with a built-in lie detector.

"You're insane," I whispered.

"I'm practical." She stepped back, but her eyes stayed locked on mine. "Now move. The Overlord's having another episode. If you can't stop the screaming, I'll see how much pressure it takes to crack your larynx."

She didn't lead me—she marched me. Every time I lagged, she gave the collar a sharp tug. We tore through the obsidian palace corridors, the air tasting of ozone and old blood. Then the sound hit me. A raw, guttural roar that vibrated in my teeth.

Not a scream. A psychic shockwave.

Sloane shoved me through the double doors. "Fix him. Now."

Inside, the room was a wreck. Furniture that cost more than my hometown was reduced to splinters. In the center sat the Overlord. He wasn't the monster I'd imagined. He looked like a man—pale, shaking, eyes flickering between a void-black and a blinding gold. He was clawing at his own scalp, digging deep furrows into his skin.

"Get out!" the Overlord shrieked. The voice layered over itself, a thousand dying animals screaming at once. "Get out of my head!"

Sloane stepped forward. "My Lord, I've brought the specialist. He can help."

"Help?" The Overlord laughed. It sounded like glass breaking. He looked up, and the sheer pressure of his gaze nearly knocked me flat. "A human? You brought a monkey to fix a god?"

Panic flared. My instinct was to bolt, but the collar tightened—a warning. I couldn't lie, but I could play. I stepped forward, palms open.

"I'm not here to fix a god," I said. My voice shook, but it was clear. "I'm here to talk to the man who's tired of screaming."

Silence. Absolute. Suffocating.

The Overlord stopped clawing. Those gold eyes narrowed, pinning me with terrifying intensity. "What did you say?"

"You're exhausted," I said, taking another step. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. "The noise. The voices. The feeling that your own mind is a traitor. It's not a curse. It's overload. Too much input, no filter."

"You know nothing," he spat. The roar had dimmed to a hiss.

"I know that when you close your eyes, you still see the things you've killed," I replied. I was gambling everything on a textbook diagnosis of magical psychosis. "And I know silence is all you want. But you're too afraid to let go of the rage because it's the only thing keeping you awake."

For a second, his face shifted. Not anger. Not hate. It was recognition. A raw, naked vulnerability that looked wrong on a face that could incinerate a city.

Then he lunged.

Blur. Motion. Before I could breathe, his clawed hand was wrapped around my throat—not the collar, but the soft flesh above it. He lifted me off the floor until my toes barely touched.

"Who told you that?" he snarled, face inches from mine. He smelled of burnt cinnamon and sulfur.

"Nobody told me," I gasped, fighting for air. "I'm a therapist. I read people. And right now... you're terrified that if you stop being a monster, there'll be nothing left underneath."

Sloane's hand went to her blade. She tensed, ready to jump in.

"Wait," the Overlord commanded. He didn't let go, but the pressure eased. He searched my eyes, hunting for a lie, a trick, a fake fear.

I didn't blink. I couldn't. "You don't have to be alone in the noise," I whispered. "I can give you a map of the madness."

He stared at me for an eternity. Then he dropped me.

I hit the floor in a heap, coughing violently. The Overlord stepped back, the gold in his eyes fading to a dull, exhausted grey. He looked small. Broken.

"Do it," he muttered, collapsing into his ruined throne. "Do whatever you do. But if you try to steal something from my mind... I'll make your death last a century."

Sloane exhaled, a sound of pure relief, but she didn't relax. She looked at me with a new kind of intensity. Curiosity. And something darker.

"He's hooked," she whispered.

I sat there, rubbing my throat, feeling the cold weight of the iron. I'd survived the first round, but I'd just become the most valuable—and most hated—asset in the capital.

As we left, Sloane leaned in. Her shoulder brushed mine, the friction of her leather armor sending a jolt through me.

"Don't get arrogant, doctor," she murmured. "The Overlord might be intrigued, but the court? They see a human in the sanctum as a plague. You've just put a target on your back that can be seen from the next realm."

"I'm already wearing a collar, Sloane. I think the target's pretty clear."

"True." She smiled. It was predatory. "Which is why you're staying in my quarters. Not for your safety, but because I'm the only one who knows exactly how to keep you alive—or how to kill you if you become a liability."

She dragged me toward the barracks, but as we crossed the plaza, the massive obsidian screens lining the walls flickered.

Every screen shifted at once. A gold scroll unfurled across the black background. A list of names.

I stopped dead.

There, at the top of the 'Most Wanted' list, was a rough sketch of my face. Below it, a bounty so high it could buy a kingdom.

And next to my name, a status update in blood-red letters:

**PRIORITY: ALIVE FOR EXTRACTION. DEAD FOR REWARD.**

"Sloane," I said, pointing. "Who the hell is paying that much for me?"

Sloane looked at the screen. For the first time, she went pale. She didn't answer. She grabbed my arm and started hauling me back toward the palace, her grip bruising.

"We need to move," she hissed. "Now."

Just as we hit the doors, a messenger in a black cloak stepped from the shadows. He held a scroll sealed with a wax stamp I didn't recognize. He didn't even look at me. He looked only at Sloane.

"Commander," the messenger said, his voice like grinding stones. "The Order has arrived. They want the human."