Thomas had known home to be an apartment. He had his own room with a comfortable bed. He had a father and, once, a mother. There was food. Warmth. Security in the triple locked door and barred and shuttered windows.

That Bren saw this single, cold room as home saddened him. There were no blankets or a bed. He couldn't see what she would eat or anywhere food might be stored. This wasn't a home, it was a hideout. But from what?

"Sit down, kiddo," Bren said, indicating the sofa.

"Don't call me that," Thomas said. "I hate it."

"What, kiddo?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry. It's habit. What about 'Tom'?"

"What about 'Thomas'?"

"Formal as shit, eh? Fair enough. Just don't ever call me 'Brenda'."

Thomas nodded and sat down next to her. He stared at his hands and, when they gave him no answers, his feet. He didn't know what to say now they were seemingly safe. He could thank her or ask why she was helping him. What he wanted to talk about was how she'd managed to throw Stan across the alley when she was meant to be a Chameleon. What he didn't want to speak about was himself.

"You gonna start?" Bren asked, breaking the silence with a hammer.

"Start?"

"Yeah. Are you going to start talking. You gonna tell me about yourself?"

"How about you tell me about yourself? You shouldn't have been able to do that to Stan."

"Are you complaining? He was after hurting you."

"I know. No, I'm not complaining. I'm just wondering."

"Ain't we all, kid... Thomas?"

He didn't answer. She was right. They both had questions about each other. It looked like Bren had no problem talking about it. It was Thomas who was reticent and, if he remained that way, she'd no doubt lost patience with him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"OK," he said."

"OK?"

"Yeah, OK. I'm a Nomad. So what?"

Bren shrugged. Since Stan had revealed Thomas's secret, she'd been on edge around the boy. The stories of Nomads losing their minds without warning were rife. And then they'd gain their powers and have no knowledge of how to use them. They'd wreak havoc. Kill innocent people. They had to be contained.

Or put on television for fun.

She was right, she felt, to be wary of him. He seemed fine, with no indications he was going off the rails. That didn't mean anything, though. Many people would profess to being perfectly sane, right before they killed someone.

Bren had thought, after powers failed to appear, the afflicted were taken away more or less straight away. They were held, just in case they turned. She knew of children who were returned to over zealous parents when their abilities came out and they were still in full possession of their wits. It didn't happen often, and the oldest she'd heard of was about eight and a half.

Once insanity took over, they were let look in The Spot and never returned. Spotters had a 100% kill rate. They were empowered individuals who were able to, and paid for, kill and it be OK.

She had yet to hear of a ten year old Nomad who wasn't crazy. Or one who hadn't been 'relocated'. She found Thomas to be intriguing. She didn't like mysteries she couldn't solve.

"So," she said thoughtfully, "how come you're still walking free?"

"What do you mean?" asked Thomas, shifting his position slightly to stop the covered spring from digging into his back.

"You're a Nomad. A ten year old one. Why aren't you locked up to see if you lose it?"

"Well..." Thomas didn't know. He was the eldest one he knew of. People were afraid of him and targeted him for abuse, but this was the first he'd known of him being hunted. "I have no idea."

"Haven't you wondered? Hasn't anything been said to you?"

"No. I was just pleased that I was still able to walk around. It didn't occur to me."

"Well, it's odd. They should have come for you long ago."

Thomas shrugged. He had no explanation for his continued, to that point at least, freedom.

"I overheard my dad talking to someone earlier. He told them to come get me. I guess my luck's run out."

"He did? That's shit."

"Yeah. Just a bit."

"You can't blame him, though. He wouldn't have had a choice. He's hung on to you fro this long already."

"It doesn't stop me feeling down over, though."

"No, I suppose not. So that's why you came to find me?"

"Yeah. I thought you might try to help me."

"Help a Nomad? What if you turn lala on me?"

"I'm ten. Shouldn't it have happened ages ago? Maybe I won't."

"Everyone does. It's nature."

"None of this is natural," he said angrily. "The whole thing about having powers is against nature."

Bren was unfazed by his outburst. She was more watching for signs that he might flip. Harsh words or tones were nothing.

"Maybe so. Well, no, definitely so, but you know what I mean. The human body can't take the change not happening. Don't you listen in class?"

"Of course I do," he said. "I know all of that. What I don't know is why me. Why I can't just get my powers and be done with it.

"And now your dad's set the dogs onto you, so you might never find out."

"Yeah."

"That's shit."

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for a while. Thomas was thinking about what she said. Why was he still walking around and not locked up? His father had handed him over, but he should have done so long before.

"What about you?" he asked, wanting to change the subject.

He was uncomfortable talking about himself. It brought unwanted attention and questions, although he doubted there were any more questions worth asking. The one interesting aspect of him was that he was a Nomad. That was only interesting to those with a perverse curiosity. Anyone else feared and loathed him and that was all they needed to know.

"What about me?"

"You've said about your dad and your power. How did you end up here? Why are you here?"

"Let's not pull punches, eh? No dawdling for you."

"Sorry. I've told you my secret..."

Thomas shrugged, as if to say 'your turn'. He had nothing more to reveal about himself and was intent on diverting the conversation. If he showed an interest in Bren, she might be less inclined to turn on him or turn him in.

"Yeah, but you didn't really, did you? That wanker friend of yours did."

"He's not my friend."

"No shit. You know what I mean. You told me because you had to. I don't have to tell you anything."

She was right, Thomas knew. He'd been caught out so he was only confirming what she already knew. She did allow him to go with her, which she didn't have to. He needed to tread carefully though. He didn't know her, not really, so had no idea how she would react to his questions. He was in her domain. He had to follow her rules. Whatever they were.

"You're right," he said, trying not to sound like a typical sulky ten year old." I was just asking."

Bren prodded his side with her index finger.

"Don't be a grump. I only said I didn't have to tell you anything. I didn't say I wouldn't."

"So tell me then. I don't have time to mess around."

"Got somewhere to be, have you?"

"Somewhere not to be, more like."

"Well yeah. You've got that right."

"So, are you going to tell me?"

Bren looked at Thomas without speaking. He was an oddity. He shouldn't be walking around with no powers. He should either have them or be dead, a victim of the Spotters. But, there was more. What about her? He wasn't the only one who had questions. She wanted to know for herself how she'd managed to throw Stan so far. Or at all. She was only supposed to be able to make herself look different. She was not, and could never be, a TeeKay. You had what you had. No changing, no handing back and no swapping for something more preferable.

So how?

"I left my dad's. I couldn't take being on show anymore. We had a huge row and I walked out and... I've never been back."

Thomas nodded in sympathy. He was fighting the feeling that his own father had been taken from him. Bren continued without waiting for him to say anything. She didn't need his sympathy. This was purely an exchange of information.

"I was living rough for a while," she said, without a trace of irony. "The I was found by a gang of kids."

"A gang?"

"Yeah, they live rough themselves, but have a ton of places they can hole up for. They steal food and supplies to live and get by."

"So, you stole things?"

"Actually, no. They were driven to it by the way things were. They had broken homes or dead parents and..."

"Had no choice?" Thomas interjected.

Exactly that. No choice. With too many things, there was no choice. You did what you had to if you wanted to survive. The powers you possessed - or the power, singular, to be precise - allowed you to do things you never thought possible. And they came with a price. Destroyed lives. Towns abandoned, where the residents had been driven out or all killed. Buildings on the brink of collapse, just like the society that tried to say abilities were a joyous gift even as they were used to tear it apart.

"Well, I suppose there's always a choice. But you can feel cornered. I managed to not have to steal, but plenty of my friends weren't so lucky. Some didn't stop at theft."

"You mean they killed someone?"

"Only when they were being stopped from getting what they wanted."

Bren's tone was defensive. Thomas didn't think murder could be defended, but he hadn't been in those circumstances. Not yet. She sounded as if she thought killing someone was acceptable in the right situation. He could see why that might be so, but couldn't imagine him doing that to another person. He wasn't strong or hard enough. He was a child - but that was what Bren had described her friends as.

Children.