Impending doom. That’s what Luke had been feeling all morning long. He hadn’t had a vision yet, and he couldn’t shake the feeling. It was making him twitchy. He always felt off before a vision, but it had never been this sharp, this all-consuming, this distracting. Usually he had a slight sense of everything intensifying. It would wash over him, all his senses suddenly heightened, as if a veil had been lifted to reveal what’s truly there. His vision was more focused, his hearing more sensitive, more precise. He was more aware of everything he touched—the feel of the chair he sat in or the ground under his feet, how the wind slid across his skin. Smells became more dimensional, more distinct. He and Sera half-jokingly called this intensity of his senses impending doom because his visions were almost always about something bad. But the term didn’t only refer to the imminent event—it was also about Luke, that he was doomed to failure. No matter what he did, he couldn’t stop anything from happening.
