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"That sounds amazing." His enthusiasm was genuine. "Plants are so complicated. All those systems working together."

"Yeah," I agreed, surprised to find myself warming to the conversation. I touched the brush to the paper properly this time, making an actual stroke rather than just dripping.

"I'm Max. My owner just got her first pet license last year. I'm her first. We've been together for six months now!"

"That's nice. I'm Lucca. I've been with my owner for four years now. I was also his first and only."

"Everybody is nice here. I really like it. Better than my old pet store. Want to try the shell mixture? It makes everything look like it's sparkling."

"Nah, I'm good, but thanks."

Before I could tell him that I'd be dead before doing actual texture painting, the bell rang again, intrusive, cutting through whatever small peace I'd found. Around us, pets immediately began setting down brushes, trained to respond instantly.

"Cleanup time," Shn announced, appearing with towels and directing us toward the washing stations. "Hands clean, supplies returned to proper places. Snacks in five minutes."

Five minutes. But five minutes in what system? Earth time? Aconchian? Some arbitrary measurement that meant nothing except another transition, another scheduled moment in a day full of them?

Max was already standing, his painting left to dry with the others. "Coming?" he asked, and there was something hopeful in his expression.

"Yeah," I said, setting down my brush with reluctance, looking at my single solitary stroke. I'd tell Daddy it was on purpose, the white canvas meaning the infinite. He'd eat that up, I was sure.

The washing station was crowded with pets, all of us trying to clean paint from our hands while caretakers supervised. At the washing station, Anya stood beside me scrubbing blue paint from one fingertip that wasn't actually blue.

She'd gone very quiet. At first I assumed she simply hated the crowd as much as I did. Then I noticed the way she kept looking toward the entrance and twisting one of her braids around her finger.

"You okay?" I asked.

Her green eyes flicked to me. "Is pickup after food?"

"No."

Her face fell so quickly I regretted answering honestly.

"There's rest period first," Otto supplied from the sink on her other side. "Then another activity block. Then owners start coming."

Anya swallowed. "Mine said she'd come back after art."

"She probably meant after the daycare day," Otto said, which was not helpful at all.

Anya's breathing had started getting shallow. I knew that feeling. The doors suddenly seemed too far away. The lights too bright. Every Aconchian in the room too large. Your owner had said they were coming back, but time on this planet made no sense, and what if you'd misunderstood, and what if they discovered life was easier without you while you were gone?

My chest tightened in sympathy. Across the room, Carlos noticed too. "Aw," he called. "New girl's already waiting by the door? Lucca can teach you how to cry about it."

The answer rose to my mouth immediately. So did the memory of O'li's voice. You represent my household. I looked at Carlos. Then I deliberately looked away. It physically hurt. But I needed to be good for Daddy.

"Come on," I told Anya. "Don't watch the door. It makes it worse."

"How do you know?"

"Because I do it every time."

That got the tiniest smile out of her. I dried my hands and leaned against the counter beside her. "Don't look at the clock either. Aconchian clocks are evil. Just count things you understand. Food. Rest. One more activity. Then pickup."

"That's still a lot."

"Yeah." I couldn't lie about that. "It is."

She looked down at her plain silver collar.