Page 25

I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling where tiny lights flickered in patterns meant to be soothing. They looked like stars. But even so, it just bored me. Around me, the sounds of settling bodies filled the space, rustling blankets, soft sighs, the occasional whisper quickly hushed by caretakers who patrolled the edges like wardens.

Max was two mats over, already curled on his side. His breathing had evened out within minutes, that enviable ability to switch off that I'd never mastered. Even at home, in my crate with all my familiar comforts, sleep came slowly. Here, surrounded by strangers and the wrong smells and O'li's absence, it felt impossible. The mat under me was exactly the wrong texture, too firm, too warm. Every position felt forced.

I turned onto my side. That's when the memories surfaced. The pet store dormitories had nap time too, though they'd called it "rest period." Rows of beds, the constant shuffle of pets being moved in and out as they were purchased or transferred. The uncertainty of not knowing if tomorrow would bring an owner or just another identical day of waiting.

At least now I had someone to wait for. O'li would come back.

A shadow fell across my mat. I opened my eyes, not having realized I'd closed them, to find a caretaker, not Virome but someone softer, her skin purple. She held a weighted blanket.

"You're restless," she observed. "This might help."

She draped it over me without waiting for permission, the weight settling across my body. It was comforting and confining, like many things in this life. Security that came with the price of surrender.

"Rest now," she whispered, her long fingers brushing through my hair.

The caretaker moved on to check other pets, and I was left under the weight of the blanket and my own thoughts. Time stretched like taffy here, each minute feeling like an hour, each hour like a day. The humming from the speakers seemed to get louder, or maybe that was my own blood in my ears, the sound of a body that wanted to move but wasn't allowed to.

I felt the tears before I realized I was crying, hot tracks down my cheeks. They came silently at first, a skill I'd learned during nights in the pet store when showing distress meant marking yourself as difficult.

A soft sob escaped, barely more than a breath but enough to make me press my face into the thin pillow. It smelled like industrial cleaning, like they had to scrub it clean of every other pet who'd cried into it before me. The weight of that shared misery made it worse somehow, knowing I was just another human who couldn't quite accept their place, another difficult pet requiring special handling. Alone on this planet.

And then that horrible question came to mind: how long would O'li put up with a rebellious pet? What would happen to me if I didn't have him? I'd be lost in the universe.

The crying came harder then, my body shaking under the weighted blanket that now felt like it was pressing me into the ground. I wanted O'li. I wanted his greenhouse and his calm voice and the way he made sense of this strange life for me. I wanted to be home, where I was safe, where, even if everything else was alien, I had him, where—

"Lucca? Puppy."

The word cut through everything, the humming, the snores, my own ragged breathing. I knew that voice, would know it anywhere, in any darkness. My body moved before my mind caught up, throwing off the weighted blanket and scrambling to my feet so fast the blood rushed from my head.

I stumbled, caught myself, and ran. Past sleeping pets, past a startled caretaker, through the doorway into the main room where the light made me squint, where he was waiting for me, standing near the entrance, still in his work clothes but here.

"Daddy!" The word tore from my throat, part sob, part joy, all need. I hugged his chest tightly. His hand found my hair immediately, those six fingers threading through the strands with perfect familiarity.

"Little star," he murmured, and his voice was warm and pleased. "I finished early."

He knelt then, bringing himself closer to my level, and his hands cupped my face. His thumbs wiped away tears, his emerald eyes scanning my face.

"Were you good?" he asked, though something in his expression suggested he already knew the answer.

"I tried," I whispered, leaning into his hands. "I really tried, Daddy."

"I know, pup. I know."

Herosm appeared then, tablet in hand, and I tensed. The daily report. The catalog of my failures, the resistance to food, the barely-there participation in activities, probably notes about my "continued adjustment difficulties" or whatever they called my inability to be a good pet.

"He was quiet but cooperative," Herosm said, and I blinked in surprise. "Participated in all activities, ate his supplement with encouragement, helped another pet through a difficult transition, attempted to rest during naptime. Some minor resistance, but nothing unusual for Lucca."

It was generous, almost kind. They could have mentioned my argument with Carlos, my need for threats to eat, my crying during naptime. Instead, Herosm had somehow found the parts of the day where I'd tried. O'li listened while continuing to pet my hair.

"Thank you for your patience with him," O'li said, standing and drawing me up with him. "I know he can be challenging."

"All pets have their unique needs," Herosm replied diplomatically. "Lucca just needs more reassurance than most. It's not a flaw, merely a characteristic. And he was good with Anya today."

O'li looked down at me.

The pride in his expression nearly killed me.

His hand found my collar, and I heard the familiar click of the leash attaching.