His fingers tighten on the laces of his boots, making them turn slightly, tap against his thigh. Arrivals are hard. Arrivals are harder because he's bad at them: no patience, a scabbed over wound of disappointment, thinking he wanted this and not getting it. Unfamiliar face after unfamiliar face, and this is worse.

He's shiny and new and he doesn't know.

He doesn't know how new he is. He doesn't know what--did or didn't happen, doesn't know what they recreated or just assigned Kira, even if he was still in it. Kira stops walking and lets Ty catch up, pull enough ahead to look in the eye.

This is not his fault. He's not even real--Kira isn't either, but here they are, comparing how much of a past they were given to work with. "No. You didn't see me, and that isn't from here. This is from here." Lifting his sweater and shirt, he shows some of the lingering marks from his fall through a treehouse floor.

"Ty," he asks, smoothing his shirt back down: "I need you to tell me the last thing you remember. Before the tubes."