Three days from now.

The first thing I notice is that the light through the window has changed — not brighter or darker, but more even, like the room just got cooled off. The air carries a different scent, sharper and cleaner than what I remember.

Miles arrives carrying a package wrapped in brown paper. He sets it down near the desk and sits across from me with an unreadied expression on his face. "Albion," he says after a moment's silence. "I came to ask about something."

He doesn't need me to fill in what that is — I know exactly which one it is. What I don't know is how to say it.

"I heard you talk about the Kitaev chain tonight," Miles continues, his voice low and measured. "And I wondered." He pauses again. "What happens when a Majorana mode isn't its own antiparticle?"