Hawkins quietly set up his cards against stalks of straw as he usually would when making predictions of a given situation. You sat across from him, simply talking about whatever came to mind. Usually, Hawkins would start tuning people out by the first few sentences, but he’d grown fond of you, so he let you speak freely.

As he’s doing his readings, Hawkins glanced up at you once your gaze was averted. A curious thought crossed his mind.

“Percentage of survival…” Hawkins murmured to himself and the cards faintly.

As soon as the chances were revealed, his hand froze. They were far too low for comfort. Hawkins took a breath and placed the cards down carefully.

He tried again a couple times more, but the percentages all ended up the same, and the same card was always drawn for you. Hawkins grew frustrated and slightly frantic.