Ven was in… his head?

Fenn froze in place, squinting in addled tiredness at the half-elf, somewhat shocked by this turn of events. At the same time, a part of him was enthusiastic about this. Great! Yes! Good! A line of direct communication! Like with Vincent, when Vince was still around. Yet -- no! Fenn had not invited this Ven-man into his mind, and his mind was very much his own private property, thank you very much. The boy had no patience for those who would rifle through his belongings as he rifled through random pockets. And his thoughts were his belongings to be shared as he deemed fit. Though, if he had mind-reading powers, Fenn figured he’d put them to good use himself. After all, he could trust himself! He was responsible! But what was Ven?

So naturally, conflicted as he was, the boy simply sighed and laid his head down on the desk -- it smelled like walnut polish -- and wondered where he could snag a mind-reader-deterring artifact of some kind. Or if he actually needed one. Or if they even existed. They had to exist, right?

In a display of some strange paternal chivalry, Nevin had thrown himself between Fenn and Ven the Mind Man. Could mind-readers read minds if another person was in the way? Fenn didn’t know the rules of mind-readery. Either way, he lifted his head up and craned over to peer at Ven. His stare was narrow and uncertainly accusatory.

Explain yourself, Mind Man.