The heavy doors slammed shut behind them, and the echo rolled through the keep like a warning bell.
Ara's breathing was sharp and uneven. "We've stirred up a storm. The guards—"
"They're coming," Kiro finished, already feeling the threads converging outside. Not the mentalist's clean, surgical precision—this was chaos. Dozens of minds, all moving fast, all primed for violence.
They ran.
The keep's main hall stretched out before them, a cathedral of black stone and high windows. Every step toward the exit was like a countdown—Kiro could feel the net closing, soldiers moving in from every side street and stairwell.
By the time they reached the grand doors, Ara yanked them open to reveal a nightmare.
The courtyard swarmed with armored troops. At least fifty, shields locked, pikes angled forward. Their commander—a scarred man with a jagged spear—raised a hand.
"Alive," he barked. "The Regent wants him alive."
Ara cursed under her breath. "Guess that means you're valuable."
Kiro's mind raced. If he tried to push all fifty, he'd burn out in seconds. But maybe… maybe he didn't have to.
He spotted a pair of horses tethered at the far gate. Threads stretched from the soldiers holding their reins, taut with focus. Kiro gripped those threads, twisting.
The horses reared, screaming, bolting sideways into the shield wall. The crash broke their formation just long enough.
"Run!"
They sprinted across the courtyard, dodging the flailing pikes. Ara slashed at one soldier's arm, spinning him away, while Kiro shoved two more into stumbling into each other.
A spear skimmed Kiro's shoulder, tearing fabric. He ignored the sting, eyes locked on the gate—
—just as a net exploded upward from the cobblestones, glowing with a faint blue shimmer.
It wasn't rope. It was woven threads.
Kiro tried to dodge, but the net dropped faster than he could think. It slammed him to the ground, the blue glow burning against his skin. Every time he tried to move, it tightened, the threads cutting like wire.
Ara skidded to his side, hacking at the strands. Her blade sparked uselessly against the weave.
A tall figure stepped through the gap in the soldiers—hooded, face hidden, but the threads pouring from them were like molten steel.
"Target secured," they said calmly.
Kiro met the invisible pressure head-on, but the hooded figure's grip was overwhelming—like trying to shove a mountain.
Then something snapped inside him. Not a break—more like a lock turning.
The net's threads flickered, and for a moment, he felt them as clearly as his own fingers.
"Not secured," he growled.
He yanked.
The net unraveled in a burst of blue light, strands whipping back into the hooded figure's chest. They staggered, their mental grip faltering just enough for Kiro to lunge to his feet.
Ara didn't wait for an order—she grabbed his wrist and pulled.
The gate was open, the horses still running wild, the soldiers in disarray. Behind them, the hooded figure's voice cut through the noise.
"This isn't over, anomaly!"
Kiro didn't look back.