You hadn’t told anyone about your power. At first it was just whispers, thoughts brushing against your mind that weren’t your own. Then came the objects—cups sliding off tables when you were angry, rocks shifting when you panicked. You hid it as best you could, terrified of what the others might think.

But Bellamy noticed.

One night, after a heated argument in camp, your emotions slipped. The air around you crackled, and a lantern toppled from its hook without anyone touching it. Everyone gasped—everyone except Bellamy. He just stared, eyes sharp, reading you like he always did.

Later, he found you outside camp, sitting alone, hugging your knees.

“You’re not crazy,” he said simply, sitting beside you.

You froze. “You don’t know that.”

“I know what I saw,” he replied, his voice calm. “And I know you’ve been hiding it.”