Stan laughed at the pair. It was high pitched and just on the edge of manic. It hinted at a child whose decisions might ensure he didn't make It to adulthood.

"He fooled you, ya stupid bitch," Stan said, containing his laugh only barely. "He's got nothing. You've hooked up with a Nomad! A lying, scum little Nomad."

"I'm not a Nomad!" Thomas insisted.

He wasn't, not really. The fact he didn't have powers yet didn't make him one, did it? A Nomad was one who'd lost their mind then found their abilities, wasn't it? You didn't automatically become one after your eighth birthday. It wasn't a magical clock that, once it struck, brought on the change. It happened at various stages over time. Granted it was a short time, as if being eight triggered a hormone that made the mundane magical mystical.

He didn't feel like a Nomad. Two years had yet to alter him, but he hadn't become a lunatic. He hadn't flipped or turned into a danger to everyone around him.

But, if he was honest, he knew the answer. Mental acuity had nothing to do with being a Nomad. It was the simple matter of not having your powers after they were meant to have appeared. That's why he was a target. He should thank his father for hanging on for so long, except he'd let his son face ongoing humiliation. Thomas wasn't sure if it would have been better to have had the time or be taken as soon as it was realised nothing was happening.

Bren gritted her teeth against all the things she was thinking of saying. She'd only just met the boy, but felt they'd known each other for much longer. Yet, now, she didn't know him at all. As much as Thomas was denying it, Stan must have had a basis for his accusation. He was obviously the sort of person to not care about truth, but it was an odd thing to say.

She had to give Thomas a chance. He deserved that much. Firstly, they had to do something about the bully.

"I don't care," she said. Part of her did, but she found that the words rang true. Thomas seemed normal. He was a nice kid. "I think you should fuck off and leave him, both of us, alone."

"Yeah, well I don't care what you think. He's going to pay."

Stan's face tensed and a vein throbbed in his neck. He made quiet grunting noises as the concentration made his whole body ache. He knew he wasn't very good, but he'd show them this time.

The walls of the buildings making up the alley started to groan under an invisible pressure. Dust from the mortar holding the bricks together lifted away and floated slowly towards Thomas and Bren. The girl wafted her hand through the cloud and it collapsed to the floor, its minimal mass unseen against the dirt it joined. Taking his cue from her, Thomas did the same thing, waving his own hand through the airborne dust cloud. It, too, fell apart and again was lost in the muck of the ground.

"Is that all you've got?" Bren asked. "It's pathetic."

"Yeah, well, if Billy was here...."

"But he's not, is he?"

She stepped forward, a simple movement that carried a threat she didn't need to voice. Stan had no idea what power she had. He also knew the chances were that it was stronger than his. He backed away.

"That's it. Get lost."

Thomas stayed silent and watched the two face off against each other. He had expected Bren to turn on him if she found out the truth. That she hadn't, told him that he really could trust her.

"I'm not going anywhere," Stan said.

He reached behind him and pulled out a knife. Its blade wasn't very long, but it would still cause damage. Bren didn't seem to notice it. She took another step forward, bringing her within striking distance.

"Be careful," advised Thomas. "Don't get hurt."

"I'm not afraid of him," she said, glancing back at him.

Stan took the second of diverted attention as his chance. He raised the knife high and lunged at the girl. Bren turned back, but she was too slow, the knife was coming down at her face. She ducked, her arms coming up in defence and, suddenly, Stan screamed. His hand opened with an audible crack and the knife clattered to the ground. His body twisted sharply, his torso and legs turning in opposite directions.

He shot up into the air and hung there, a leaf held by a breeze that was having trouble deciding which way to blow. Drool dripped from his mouth, barely missing Thomas's face. His body shook violently and then he was flung back, landing just inside the entrance to the alley. There was another crack. The sound of bones breaking.

"Did... did you do that?" Bren asked.

She was pale and appeared afraid. Her voice trembled a little. Thomas shook his head. How could he have done? He had no powers. Bren did have them, but she was a Chameleon, not a TeeKay!

"No," he said quietly, as if reducing the volume would also reduce the repercussions. "I can't."

"You must have done," she said. "Because it wasn't me."

"I... I can't," repeated Thomas. "He was right about me."

She stepped forward, putting an unsteady hand on his shoulder.

"He can't have been. Look what just happened."

Thomas couldn't help but look. Stan was still in a heap where he fell. He could, it seemed, move, but grunts of pain accompanied every attempt to. His hands were crooked, the fingers twisted at odd angles, but he slowly unwound himself. How he was still alive, let alone able to straighten himself out, was beyond Thomas. He must have been stronger than was originally thought.

"Really. I don't have anything. That's why I came back to find you."

"Find me? I thought you'd come to... I don't know... learn how to not be a wuss."

Thomas wasn't about to admit she was right, but it didn't matter anyway. What if throwing Stan around was down to Thomas. What if, when it came down to it, he did have powers? What if they'd remained dormant until they were really needed and came to his rescue?

He wished it could have been true. He would rather have not been so brutal, but he knew. It wasn't him. He felt no different to a few moments before. Or the months and years. He was the same. And besides.

Her eyes.

"Bren," he said. "You're eyes!"

"What about them?"

"They're... on fire!"

"What do you mean? They can't be."

"They are, honest. They look just like they did when you... came out of the wall."

He wasn't sure how to describe her morphing from looking like the brickwork to being herself. Whether he'd got it right or not, the outcome was the same. The rim of flames that lit her eyes was the same. Originally, he'd thought it was the remnants of the wall's colouring fading. Now, he doubted it. It might have been caused by her using her powers.

For a time, when he was eight, he'd had a best friend. When the friend gained their powers, and used them, they'd described it as being like electricity running through them. Like they'd licked their fingers and shoved them into a socket. The feeling had lasted for a few seconds afterwards and, Thomas thought, the sensation was addictive. The friend had used their powers more and more to keep the lightning burning.

When Thomas's powers didn't materialise, the friend left him behind and started to despise him. The friend, Billy, wanted to eradicate their friendship from the minds of the other students. He didn't want to be associated with a Nomad. He turned on Thomas as he turned on everyone in a bid to erase their history.

Thomas had asked his father about the feelings. Did Iain get it too? He admitted that he did. It was a double edged sword. It both sickened and elated you. For some, the elation far outweighed the other. Not for everyone, but even for those it didn't, the buzz was still there and your body began to need it.

It meant powers changed a person. It wasn't just the ability itself. It was the euphoria, too.

Thomas had felt none of that. He was still powerless.

But Bren...?

"They can't," she said. "That only happens when I power up. And I didn't do that. I'm a Chameleon, not a TeeKay."

"Well, it wasn't me. I've got nothing. And your eyes. They're... well, it's faded now, but it was there."

Bren was silent. Thomas let her ruminate, so was quiet too. The only sounds were of Stan pushing himself up onto unsteady legs and limping out, back onto the main street. At any other time, he would have turned back and thrown insults and threats at them. Not this time. He thought his days of threatening were over. Billy was on his own and Stan didn't care what he did about it. He couldn't face that again. He was too young to die.

"It wasn't me," Thomas repeated after the silence stretched to breaking point.

He knew it wasn't but how could it be anyone else? He looked around the alley. There were no hiding places, unless you were a Chameleon and everywhere was a hiding place.

Bren didn't answer. She was struggling. This boy was a Nomad. At ten, though, he should be crazy. He should be on the television being Spotted. His mind was completely, as far as she could tell, intact.

"My eyes," she whispered. "But, I can't. I'm not."

Thomas put his hand on her arm and squeezed gently.

"But, what if you can? What if you are?"