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Toliver hated what Seattle would become, but it’s where she went so he followed. They’d been arguing again over her premature use of “the talent.” She left training, dashing off to October 17, 2024.
“Admit it, Daddy.” Constance’s hand was on his shoulder as he examined a peculiar glass object. “It’s quite lovely, isn’t it?”
He turned and she was smiling.
“I suppose in its own way, but we need to get home.”
“You only enjoy living in the 1980s because of nostalgia,” she chided.
Tol countered, “We can see the first showing of ‘The Terminator’ again if we hurry.”
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