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the wrist away. But he held it just a second longer, to make the omni boy look up at him, so he could see Cole’s cold stare warning him that he’d better not smirk again.
    The boy saw. He seemed to wilt a little.
    Then Cole released the wrist. “Thank you,” he said, a cool dismissal.
    The boy left without a word. And rapidly.
    Gordon did not thank Cole. He did not say anything, just sat there, slumped and dejected. Cole watched him, thinking what to say next.
    “It’s done,” he told Gordon abruptly. “You’ve learned something. And now you must get up.”
    Gordon shook his head but obeyed, getting to his feet. He was slightly taller than Cole, but his eyes were big and sad—yes, like a puppy’s.
    “How old are you?” Cole asked him.
    “Eighteen.”
    Cole put one hand on the boy’s shoulder—not out of companionship but to guide him back into the heart of the Colony.
    “I really want to wake up now,” Gordon said, his lip trembling—and Cole saw, to his horror, that the downcast eyes appeared to be brimming with tears.
    But there was nothing he could say to make it better. “I know you do,” he said, his voice flat, and he did not look again. Pity would help no one, and getting sucked into an emotional response would be one step toward the brink of a long slippery slope. He knew that from experience.

CHAPTER FOUR
    THE living room looked as it had when Cole had first come in. Johnny had taken the omni girl off somewhere. Mitch was still in his chair. The two remaining omnis were lazing again. Cole knew that if he got closer to the back door he’d still be able to hear Frederick droning on. Frederick always droned on. And except for the occasional feed, Cole knew, Frederick hadn’t left the Building in well over a hundred years.
    This place is soft, Cole thought. An incompetent new heme walking around, and no one saw the need to keep an eye on him. Apparently nobody had even bothered to teach him the basics of feeding. Cole doubted anyone would do much more than bat an eye when they found out what had just happened.
    Still, it wasn’t Cole’s job to babysit.
    Gordon hadn’t moved to sit down. He just stood in the middle of the living room looking overwhelmed, and rather lost.
    As Cole watched, he sniffed and swiped his eyes with his sleeve.
    “When Sandor comes,” Cole said to Mitch, “tell him we’re in the kitchen.” Mitch waved that he’d heard. And Cole guided Gordon through the swinging door.
    The kitchen was empty. If Seth had gotten juice for the girl, he was long gone. A faint odor of recently baked bread permeated the air. Not fresh—whatever cooking had been done had taken place several days ago. The kitchen was mostly for the omnis, who were not allowed to bring food out into the rest of the apartment, and it was an inviting place—or would have been if it wasn’t for the warm yeasty-wheat smell, which was stomach turning to Cole. Its brick floors and granite countertops had been designed with two things in mind: preventing fires and keeping the omnis happy. The large table in the nook at the end had a cast-iron frame and a tiled top. In the middle stood a stainless steel container filled with yellow roses. Real roses , Cole noticed, catching the faint, soft scent.
    Gordon slouched wearily into the chair Cole pulled out for him. Cole took a seat opposite.
    They waited in silence. Gordon did not move. Cole sat, elbows on the table, his fingers laced, observing Gordon. Now that the boy wasn’t feeding or puking, Cole could see the shocked, slightly bewildered look in his red-rimmed eyes—the same one Cole had seen in omnis as they walked away after having survived a car accident.
    He felt another stir of sympathy but pushed it away. Anger, on the other hand—now that was called for. The Building hemes had obviously let the kid feed as freely as he had wanted on the resident omnis, without rules, without any attempt at discipline, without giving him any concept of moderation or