A cold, quiet anger settled in his chest, but it was mixed with frustration.
Even though he could see the evidence, he could do almost nothing about it.
He couldn't tell what exactly had been changed—only that it had been changed.
Was it a decision he'd made? A person he'd met? The path that led him to the Black Lantern?
The threads were too fine, the interference too subtle, for him to decipher the specifics...
He tried to push his will against the braided section, to pull the foreign thread away.
But his power, [Fate Consumption], resisted.
It was not designed to repair or cleanse fate—only to take from it.
He could consume a piece of someone's past fate, but he couldn't un-knot the strings that an outside force had woven into his own.
He let out a slow breath, deactivating the skill.
The vision faded, leaving him sitting on the cold bench in the dim light.
