When Charles awoke, the third thing he noticed was the ring on his finger.
Not the first thing- that was the ever-present buzz of nearby mentality, drawn in by his telepathy. Not the second thing- that was the feeling of wear on his skin; signs of love and passion pressed into him like marks of ownership.
No, the ring was the third thing. Charles opened his eyes blearily to regard it, lifting his head from the pillow to look down at the unexpected trinket.
There was a ring on his left hand- a thin circlet of metal perfectly formed around his finger like it belonged there. Only it didn’t. He didn’t own it. He hadn’t put it there. So who had?