"Ah -- " Miles stalls on that one, too, because what year was it, when he left the Moira? How does he quantify that? And he knows Mark can't possibly know that, but then again, he's not sure what Mark could possibly know, and a nervous giggle chokes its way out of his throat. Son of a bitch.

"Ha, uh -- ninety-eight," Miles finally manages, goggling at Mark, because that hasn't cleared up any. Time travel, right. He'd seen that happen from time to time on the Moira -- people from the same worlds but different times. "What about you?"