Two days later, on the other side of the city, a dark room flickered with candlelight. The wind slipped through the half-open window, blowing the thin curtains so they danced like restless spirits.
At the center of the room, Yan Meilin sat in front of a heavy wooden desk. A thick, ancient book lay open before her, its pages filled with strange symbols and an unfamiliar language that only she could read.
She pressed her palms flat against the table, closing her eyes as she whispered an incantation under her breath. Sweat formed on her brow and rolled down her temples. Her breathing quickened, but nothing happened.
Her eyes snapped open, frustration flashing in them. "Why? Why am I unable to see anything?"
She flipped the page quickly, her fingers trembling, and read another line. Closing her eyes again, she tried once more to summon a vision of the future.
