Alright, it's sort of alarming that the other Miles lets out that laugh now, but then again, everything about this is alarming, including the look on his face. Miles sees his own glance mirrored in his apparently older self, and his hand automatically goes to his throat, then jerks up the collar of his Moira uniform in that stupid little tic he'd developed ever since he'd seen his stupid reflection on that stupid and now very gone planet. This, he thinks, is not very encouraging.

"Thirty," he echoes, his voice just as strangled, and his cracked grin turns to a bleak smile. "Glad to see I've lived that long."

Or not. His stomach is heavy with lead, his gaze tugged back to the scars on the other Miles's throat. God, please tell him it's something else.