"Do you."

Destiny closes the Book for a moment, one finger holding his place.

"You seem remarkably comfortable with certainty, William Turner. Some of your acqaintance would counsel wariness on that front."

Destiny is not one of those.

Or is he?

He stands then, letting the Book fall back open. The chain that binds him to it clanks as he shifts away from the table, bare feet leaving no impression on the ground.

He casts no shadow, even in the bright mid-morning sunlight that floods the Garden.

"Have you eaten and drunk your fill, then?"