Mikael rummaged through his fridge for something to eat and found the last bit of dinner he’d made the night before. He smiled, remembering the awful mess he’d made and shook his head. Little dimples emerged at the corners of his smile. He took the food to the microwave, punched a couple buttons and settled in for a cup of coffee. Black, no cream, no sugar. He could drink it warm or cold and often just left it in the pot until he came around to it later. Maybe he’d go for a run later that night, see if he could use up some of his extra energy. He hated running, but it seemed like that was all he ever did. Run from the past, from the present and gods be damned, he’d be running from the future as soon as he knew what that future was. He wasn’...

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