letting her guide his head, like it was a natural thing. Some old instinct left over from the sterile years in Project Sentry’s labs. It kept him still whenever someone inspected him. Compliance, habit, whatever it was, it hadn’t left him.
“I…I’d like to think I have some friends.”
“Really?” She looked at him in surprise. The red-haired woman reached out, cupping his face and turning it gently from side to side.
“You look like a good boy—I mean, a good person. You must have a lot of friends.”
That didn't sound right... She seemed so effortlessly social, confident. How could someone like her not have friends? He scratched the back of his neck, searching for the right words.
“Uh … I’m sorry to hear that. I mean… I wouldn’t say I’m exactly great with friends either. "