“What brings you here in the middle of the day?”

I can’t make sense of the flash of irritation that goes through Latham. At the way his muscles tense, making the cords on his neck stand out.

“I wanted to see if you’d had a chance to talk to Father,” he says. His voice is all politeness and deference. Nothing like the storm of emotion that swirls in his chest.

His mother picks up a cloth and begins to dust one of the tables. She doesn’t meet his gaze. “About?”

A gust of rage flies through him, so strong that I’m sure he’s about to explode. But he pulls it back. Deliberately turns off his emotions, as if he’s blowing out a candle.

“About Avalina? You promised to speak to him about allowing me to keep the match.”

His mother waves a hand in front of her, swatting away the question as if it’s an irritating housefly. “That girl isn’t right for you.”

“Isn’t that for me to decide?” His voice is carefully neutral.

She pats his arm. “Why don’t we leave it up to fate? If you’re meant to be with her, it will all work out.”

He stares at her, incredulous. Because fate already decided. And still it wasn’t good enough for his parents. They only care about fate when it agrees with them.

In the reading, time shifts, pulling me forward at breathless speed. Images flash by so quickly that my stomach spins. I think I might be sick. I try reaching for the edges of the vison, to get some purchase that will make it stop moving so fast, but I seem to have lost all control. If my eyes weren’t already closed, I would squeeze them shut. Finally the vision slows. Comes to a halt.

And I’m still standing inside the shop.

The paint on the walls is a vivid orange now. The displays have changed.

Latham walks through the door again, but this time he’s years older. He finds his mother and kisses her cheek. She chats with him for a while about mundane things—gives him an update on her vegetable garden, muses about the weather, shares a bit of gossip about one of his childhood friends. I nearly abandon the vision to try for something more meaningful when she clears her throat.

“So have you given any more thought to the Grand Council vacancy? Say the word and your father will make sure you’re seated.”

Latham gives a low chuckle that hides something much darker. His emotions are well concealed, even from himself. But I catch a few glimpses of old grudges and deep resentments as they dart through his mind. “I think I’ll pass.”

His mother’s face falls. “I wish you’d reconsider. Your father always hoped you’d be on the council one day.”