peter sweeps the cards off the table with his hand. "i don't want to know," he repeats.

"maybe i do," edmund replies.

peter shoves his chair back from the table and storms away, running his hands through his thick hair. "if we were meant to know the future," he says, "what would be the use of getting there in the first place?"

preventing it, edmund wants to say, but he knows better than most that the future can't be prevented, just ensured. he contents himself with keeping quiet and gathering up the cards. he turns the last one over. the thief.

"where did you learn to lie?" he asks.