{{ ⚛ — what team. }}

      troy freezes. is this -- no, it can’t -- is it? the name sends a pulse through his body, leaving his gut twisted and tight, the blood slowly fading from his cheeks. he knows what he left behind and he knew that, somewhere out there, that his family were living and getting on with their life and a part of him had eventually come to terms with that. whether it was a natural occurrence or the influence of the clave on his young impressionable mind will never be known, but what is known is that name - juliet ariel whitmore - metaphorically brings the confused male to his knees. “--- my sister.”

      that name -- no, it can’t be. troy hasn’t gone by that name since he chose to become a shadowhunter after the fall of his parents. when he left, they christened him with a new name - they said it would help him acclimatise and forge a life of his own, to make a name for himself that isn’t tainted by the actions of those who birthed him and, at the time, the concept of that was beyond anything the little boy could imagine. him? make a name for himself? to become one of the greatest shadowhunters the chicago institute has ever known? no one could turn that opportunity away, but now? her standing in front of him - this girl that he doesn’t know - correcting him on his own name? troy is confused. beyond confused. “how do you know that name? don’t make me ask again. who are you and what do you want?”

      troy exhales slowly as the stele connects with his skin, the rune in question reappearing as she draws the lines. the slight touch of her fingers sends electricity through his body and he catches himself staring at the hand that’s healing him. first juliet and now this? he can’t help but feel so confused -- nothing is making sense, yet... everything is making sense? his mind is a minefield and not even he can understand it; there’s too much processing and rendering that not even he can keep up. “you should never apologise for training,” he slowly replies, his snapping back to the present. he was taught to train hard; to train with little room for error or reason to apologise. he doesn’t see why she should have to apologise when he never has. then again, wilshire seems to have it’s fill of... unique beings. “a couple of months? i was assigned here for the bond thing,” he says. it’s not the full truth but it’s enough of it for him to possibly get away with. “i’m from the chicago institute. -- where are you from? i uh... don’t remember you, either.”

troy: *confused*

      “people keep telling me that,” troy answers absently. at least, in wilshire they do. he was perfectly fine going about his day to day business before he moved, no one bothered him when he spent his time training or reading to boost his knowledge, but here? it’s all have some fun, troy. “non-alcoholic sounds good, thank you,” he offers the woman a tight lipped smile. “to be honest, i don’t think i’d notice the difference between what’s a good drink and a bad drink so you don’t have to worry.”

      the name twists his insides as he remembers his younger sister who, incidentally shares that name. though troy is logical enough to know that coincidences happen and he is bound to run into someone that has her name at one point or another. he had just hoped he wouldn’t have to. “that is my real name,” troy’s jaw sets as his fingers rest over his concealed weapon. why is she so determined to know his name? “troy jonas blackthorne. why are you asking me this?” he takes a step closer so that he can try and see her more clearly. “what do you want from me?”

      troy is half way along the pavement when he senses that someone is following. automatically, his hand gravitates towards his concealed weapon. then, when addressed, he turns and faces her, hand still hidden underneath his dark jacket. at first, he doesn’t recognise her. “what?” he slowly replies after being thrown off by her question. he knows he shouldn’t give his name to a stranger, but he can’t stop himself. “--- troy. who are you?”

      “thank you,” troy murmurs as he flicks the cap off his water bottle. he then swallows down a few gulps before replacing the cap once more. he feels like he should be more positive than his half asses reply displayed but the lack of breath in his lungs fail to motivate such a response. “--- skye,” he repeats the name, nodding a little. it’s noted that she doesn’t reference what the hell it is that everyone keeps throwing him and he honestly appreciates it. “uhm... sure,” he hesitates before taking a step closer. he was told to make more of an effort to intergrate with the wilshire shadowhunters and this was a start, right? at least, he hopes it is. staying outwith his comfort zone is definitely proving to be difficult.

      troy nods but he finds himself over thinking it anyway. it’s one of the downsides of how his brain works. once a thought or an idea enters it’s taken in with vice grip and he has no other option but to play host. it’s why he prefers the physical aspect of being a shadowhunter over the logical side; the physical requires little to no thinking and it comes naturally to him. “i guess... yeah,” he nods slowly. “but kind of no,” he finds himself saying. “i think we like to say the past doesn’t affect us, but it does. it is us.” he doesn’t mean to be so philosophical or deep, he just feels like the past is not something someone can run from and it’ll always be there no matter what. “yeah... troy,” he nods, confirming her words. he’s never been one for nicknames so they’re not something he’s inclined to accept, but since leaving his family? he’s never been able to stomach anything less than his official name. “i -- thank you, sam, but i don’t think i know what i would vent about. nothing i can say will change it or alter the path so why try?” he reaches up and runs a hand through his hair. “i’m not really used to this...”