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Even the way they stood was a kind of warning: don't fuck around, or you'll find out. Their skin was darker than Shn's, a heavy bronze that reflected the overhead lights like polished metal, and their eyes were the color of blueberry syrup, bright and glossy. Two horns, thicker than O'li's but shorter, jutted from the ridge of their brow and then swept back close to their skull, ending in points that looked sharp enough to break skin.

"I'm not hungry," I lied, my stomach choosing that moment to growl audibly.

Virome moved closer, their shadow falling across my cushion. They knelt, bringing themselves closer to my level, though still towering above me. "All pets need proper nutrition," they said, their voice patient but firm. "Your owner left specific instructions about your feeding schedule."

"O'li wouldn't want me to eat this," I said, knowing I was being difficult but unable to stop myself. "He makes real food."

"This is real food," Virome said, pushing the bowl back toward me. "Optimized for human nutritional needs."

Optimized. Such a clinical word for something that should have been about more than just survival. Around me, other pets were eating. Otto was working through his portion, his face neutral. Anya took small bites. Even Carlos just ate. Max caught my eye and made a face that said he understood but also suggested I should just give in. He held up his grain bar and took an exaggerated bite, pretending to savor it, which almost made me smile despite everything.

"Lucca." Virome's voice had shifted, taking on an edge that made my skin prickle. "This is your second warning."

Second warning. I knew what came after the third. Daycare caretakers had O'li's authorization to correct me when necessary, and the correction stations along the far wall existed for exactly that purpose.

My chest tightened. The thought also sent an unwanted pulse of arousal through me, enough for the cage beneath my clothes to become suddenly, horribly noticeable. Great. O'li was going to get that data too.

My gaze betrayed me and flicked toward the correction area. One of the platforms was empty but lit amber. Beside it, a human I recognized from the reading nook stood facing the wall in the recovery position, pants back in place, eyes red and hands folded behind his head. I didn't know what he'd done or what correction he'd received.

The message was clear enough. Third warning. Virome followed my gaze. Their expression didn't change.

"I would prefer not to send you over there, Lucca."

My mouth went dry. The cage tightened around another involuntary reaction, which was deeply unfair of my own body. Virome's eyes returned to mine.

"Eat."

I picked up the grain bar. One small bite. It tasted like compressed disappointment, dry and somehow both flavorless and wrong-flavored at the same time. My throat didn't want to swallow, but I forced it down.

"Good," Virome said, but they didn't move away. They stayed there, watching, waiting for real compliance.

The protein paste was worse. Its texture made me think of mud if mud had been processed through machines. But my stomach was genuinely hungry now, and even this approximation of food was something.

"I don't understand why you make this so hard," Virome said.

They were kind of right. Four years with O'li, countless visits to daycare, and I still acted like this was my first time. What was wrong with me that I couldn't just accept it like Otto did, couldn't find that peace in surrender? I choked down another bite of the grain bar, feeling the dry crumbs stick in my throat. "Maybe there's something wrong with me," I said, barely loud enough for Virome to hear.

"There's nothing wrong with you, pet," Virome said, surprising me with something that almost sounded like kindness. "Just stubborn. But stubbornness without purpose is just suffering, little boy."

I finished the grain bar and moved on to the fruit liquid. It was the easiest to stomach, even if it tasted like a memory of fruit rather than the real thing. Sweet-adjacent, wet enough to help the grain bar settle.

"You know," Virome continued, still watching me eat, "the pets who struggle most here are often the ones most loved at home."

I looked up at them, searching their face for mockery, but found only observation. "What do you mean?"

"The ones whose owners treat them as more than property. Who give them choices, affection, genuine care?" They tilted their head, studying me. "It makes the institutional structure harder to bear. You know what you're missing."

It was true. Otto's owner kept him at a pleasant distance, fed, housed, displayed, but not cherished. Carlos's owner barely acknowledged him outside of social functions. They could accept daycare because it wasn't that different from their daily lives. But O'li... O'li made me feel like the center of a small universe, and every moment here reminded me of that absence.

"Good job eating. You know you're already on your second warning, though. Third warning means correction. Keep that in mind," Virome said, standing back to their full height. "I would rather not discipline you, Lucca, but I will if necessary. Your owner has given permission. You know that."

The thought of O'li discussing my punishment with daycare staff made me feel small and exposed. He'd probably been matter-of-fact about it, clinical even. Yes, Lucca can be disciplined if he misbehaves. Standard corrections are acceptable. The same tone he used when discussing plant nutrients. But I knew he only did that because he cared about my education.

I ate the rest mechanically, forcing down paste and liquid while my mind wandered to O'li's lab. Was his meeting going well? Did the weather modification team appreciate his expertise? Did he think about me at all, or was he absorbed in his work, grateful for the uninterrupted focus?

Chapter 11. O'li

Lucca's heart was beating too fast.