‘Because it would feel like dying. I haven’t done with this world.’

Chem said brightly, ‘I’d go with my parents. I always do whatever they want.’

Tod said maliciously, ‘They would go without you. They probably have already.’

‘No, they haven’t.’ Chem’s lips were working. ‘They’ll come back to me when—’

‘When, when, when,’ Tod sang. ‘When is never. They’re never coming back!’

‘And nor are yours!’

‘But I don’t care any more,’ Tod said. ‘You do. Ha ha!’

Chem, in a tearful fury, flew at Tod. The wrestling boys fell to the floor and crashed through table legs. Pixels flew and protocol-violation warnings pinged, but the table didn’t so much as quiver.

Symat watched curiously. He lived in a world saturated by sentience, where everything was aware, everything potentially had feelings. He understood Virtual children could be hurt, but he didn’t necessarily know what might hurt them.

‘Enough.’ Mela waded into the mêlée and pulled the boys apart. Chem, crying copiously, ran from the room. Mela said to Tod, ‘You know how it upsets him when you say such things.’

‘It’s true. Our parents are never coming back. His aren’t. We all know that.’

Mela put her hand on her heart. ‘He doesn’t know it. Not in here.’

‘Then he’s stupid,’ Tod said.

‘Maybe he is, maybe not. But we have to look out for him. All we have is each other now. Go after him.’

‘Aww—’ Tod pulled a face, but he went out obediently.

Mela looked at Symat. ‘Kids,’ she said, smiling faintly.

Symat, his head full of his own issues, chewed his food.

When he had done eating, the apartment was a little more like a home, a little less like a strange place. And, his muscles still aching from his time in the water, he realised he felt tired. He found a bathroom, and a bedroom stripped of light furnishings. He sat on a pallet.

The three Virtuals clustered in the doorway, looking at him.

‘I’m going to sleep,’ he said.

‘All right.’ They receded into the shadows.

Symat lay down on the pallet, and his clothes, sensing his intentions, fluffed themselves up into a warm cocoon around his body. Experimentally he ordered the room to dim its lights; the command worked. He turned over and closed his eyes.

He thought he slept.

But he heard murmuring. He saw the two boys in the dim light, standing at the foot of his pallet - no, hovering, their feet just above the ground. And they were talking, softly, and too rapidly for him to hear, like speeded-up speech. He heard a name: ‘The Guardians.’ Then one of them whispered, ‘He’s awake!’ And they fled, sliding through the solid wall like spectres, accompanied by a soft pinging.