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"If that is the end you foresee, Mr. Ryder, why not accept it here and now? After all, even you never foresaw this moment. From here on, the course of events lies beyond your control."
Blume sat down, calm as still water. His words were coldly logical. Even now, he showed no fear that Charles might lash out in rage and strike him down. Charles' taciturn but heretofore utterly dependable subordinate betrayed not the slightest tremor at the possibility of imminent death.
"…"
Charles said nothing, though his face darkened as he stared at Blume across the room. The alarms blaring throughout the Nightblades headquarters still shrieked incessantly in the background.
"So it's true," Blume continued. "The Ryder family's prophetic gift is not perfect foresight at all, but fragmented glimpses pieced together in a probabilistic manner. In other words, if one buries a single ‘ordinary' matter beneath a flood of weightier events,...
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