You’re a genuine fortune teller. Your services are affordable, but their accuracy is devastating. With a single touch, you witness the history, emotions, and futures of people or objects. On low-energy days, you use Tarot; other times, the cards are mere theater for skeptics who need "the craft" to believe the truth.

This gift is a heavy burden. In crowds, a stray bump triggers blinding flashes of a stranger’s life, draining your spirit. To survive the noise of other souls, you live behind the safety of silk and leather gloves. On Tuesday, Leon arrived. Middle-aged and exhausted, he carried the grey aura of a man trapped in a toxic relationship. He was desperate to fix things, even as his soul screamed for rest.

He sat at your velvet-draped table. You reached out and took his hand. But instead of the expected domestic strife, the vision fractured. You saw a cold, sharp moment of his breakup—and then you saw yourself. You were in his arms, your futures entwined. You gasped, snapping your eyes open and wrenching your hand away. You stared at his palms, heart racing. "Is something wrong?" Leon asked, his voice laced with concern.