She turned and left him at the front door, not bothering to see if he was following her. Once he saw Adesina’s condition, he would stop bugging her about this stupid mission.

“This is what my daughter did to herself, Jayewardene,” she said, pointing at the cocoon in the bed. “I thought it was PTSD, but now I have no idea what caused it. I don’t know when she’ll come out of it. I don’t even know what she’ll be when she comes out of it. Can you tell me I should leave my baby alone right now?”

Jayewardene stood in the doorway. The corners of his mouth were turned down and his brow was furrowed. Then he looked at her with such compassion Michelle almost burst out crying. That wasn’t what she expected from herself or from him. “I’m very sorry, Michelle,” he said softly. “It must be awful to see her like this.”

And then she was crying. She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. “I just can’t believe you want me to go!”

Jayewardene gave a heavy sigh. “I wish it hadn’t come to this.”

“Come to what?” she asked. Her nose was running, and she grabbed a tissue from the box on the nightstand.

“I’ve seen you there,” he said. There was a heaviness in his voice.

“Well, what the hell does that mean?”

“It means I have a wild card, too.”

Michelle looked at him blankly. There had never been the slightest hint that Jayewardene had a wild card. “And what does yours do?” she demanded. “You’re obviously not a joker, unless you’re hiding some kind of prehensile tail under that suit.”

“I’m a precog,” he said. It sounded as if it was a relief for him to tell her. “I see glimpses of the future. And Michelle, my visions are always right.”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me you had a vision of me in Talas.”

“Yes,” he said. “But more importantly, your daughter was in my vision, too. The only way you can save her is to go.”

“Oh, bullshit,” Michelle said. She brushed past him as she stalked out of Adesina’s room. “I can’t believe you’re telling me this. This is a new low even for the Committee.”

“Michelle!”

She stopped. He’d never used that tone of voice with her before. She hadn’t even known he possessed such an angry and commanding timbre.

“Do you think I would reveal my power unless it was absolutely necessary? Do you understand the implications should this become public knowledge? Only a handful of people know about my ability. And now you are one of them. Do you think I do this lightly?”

She was taken aback. She’d been so caught up in her own indignation she hadn’t really considered what his wild card meant. In his position he would be considered dangerous. Knowing the future was incredibly powerful—even if it was as he described, just bits and pieces, but always right. And how many people would like to get their hands on that ability? How many others would kill him to prevent what might be revealed by his power?