Jorge had paid to fix my files when we got to ABQ, but the patch-up was a piss-poor job. When we were twelve, Roan checked the files and added more schooling information, some medical charts, and he even put in some shopping history to make it look like we’d been in Albuquerque my whole life. As far as my records went, I was Maité Martinez, born and raised here. I’d been Maité so long that my real name didn’t feel like me anymore. I wasn’t even sure I’d answer to it if someone used it.

“Well, it took me a long time. Clearly. Mostly because my brother is an asshole and never liked your family. He figured I knew your escape route, and he was right. Your father told Lorne and me what to do if something happened, but nothing went as planned. It took me a week to shake my brother, and that week was enough for you to slip away. I almost caught you at a train station in Austin, but after that, your mom ditched the plan, and I couldn’t find you. Until now.”

Our four years of running were all a blur now. We’d been moving so fast, not really sleeping and homeless for chunks of it. I didn’t even remember being in Austin. “And? Why now? I must’ve messed up somehow, but when?”

“Ah. Your implant.” He tapped my finger. “They had to run your blood—”

“They didn’t run my blood!” No. I’d been careful. I started to get up, but he held my leg for a second, stopping me. That pause gave me enough time to think.

“They couldn’t run it,” I said, more calmly this time, “because they didn’t have it. Roan was with me. He—”

“They didn’t run it, but techs had to report the vial missing. There are a lot of strict rules about implants and handling of blood. Even with third-rate doctors.”

“You’re messing with me. Right?” This was bad.

“Unfortunately not. No one thinks that SpaceTech would keep track of this kind of stuff, but… If you’d replaced it with a different sample, you’d have been better off. And since your blood was handled by such a seriously shitty doctor…” His voice was getting louder, and I could see the anger growing in him. “That dirty office? That man… He barely qualifies as a physician. He could’ve maimed you, and—”

“I know. Okay. I know,” I said quietly. “But it’s not like I had much of a choice. I have to blend. And don’t you judge me.” I stood up, unable to stay sitting next to him. “You don’t know me. You haven’t been through what we have. Don’t you dare judge me.”