For a heartbeat, there was nothing.
Then—
A rush of strange, blurred impressions.
A darkness that wasn't his own.
It wasn't clear. It wasn't as vivid as Sharing Senses.
But it was something.
Michael's heart thumped once, hard.
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
So Telepathy could almost replicate Sharing Senses, after all—if he pushed it.
He suspected if his skill was stronger—or if his mind was more practiced at this—he might be able to see everything Spartan did as though it were his own eyes.
And if that was true…
Then this skill's potential was far beyond anything he'd first imagined.
Even as the blurry black and white vision pulsed and faded, Michael felt a surge of quiet satisfaction.
He might not have been able to stride back into the auction house himself…
…but he wasn't powerless.
Michael drew in a slow breath, feeling the night around him, and focused all six threads of his will into a single, silent command.
Find something, anything for me.
