Youāve got a habit of finding trouble, Miguel. It was something his mother had said once, exhaustion clinging to her very bones as she rubbed at the back of her neck. It had been just before Alchemax staked their claim on him, when he was still just a little kid whose life was his own. His mother hadnāt hated him yet, and his stepfather was still an ass but he was an ass that Miguel had been sure was responsible for both his and Gabriās existence. (He still didnāt know if that was preferable to knowing the truth.)Ā
He couldnāt remember precisely what heād done, if it was the time heād pulled the dresser down on Gabriel or if heād accidentally spilled his stepfatherās whiskey down the drain, but he remembered the way sheād looked at him. He remembered thinking heād never seen her so tired, remembered aching despite his youth. Heād wanted to make her okay, but he had a habit of finding trouble and neither of them knew how to stop that.
The habit had followed him into the past, even if his mother hadnāt. For a moment, Miguel had thought that heād left it behind, back in 2099 with Gabri and Jess and Kasey and the rest. But then strong hands were wrapping around his arms and someone was yanking him into an alley and Miguel knew he wouldnāt die here but that didnāt mean he wanted to get mugged. Especially not by...Ā
He paused, blinking at her. Young woman, mid-twenties at the oldest, and there was something strangely familiar about her. For a beat, Miguel only stared. And then his mouth caught up to the situation, and that was never a good thing.Ā āI donāt really like Girl Scout Cookies,ā he said slowly.Ā āThose minty ones leave a bad taste in my mouth. Donāt get what the fuss about them is.ā