“Maybe you’re right and things are going to get bad,” I say. “But that doesn’t mean you should cut yourself off. Being all about the war all the time? That can’t be good. Maybe you should spend like ninety-five percent of your time as Six and, uh, five percent with me, being Maren.”

I didn’t plan that little speech; Six’s old human name just pops out. Her mouth opens a bit, but she doesn’t say anything at first, the name catching her off guard.

“Maren,” she whispers. “I’m not sure I even remember how to be her.”

There’s something in the way she’s looking at me now, almost like she’s throwing caution to the wind. It’s not the sort of devil-may-care look I’d expect from Six, but it’s something more vulnerable, like she’s decided to drop her guard just a little. I don’t let go of her hand.

“Promise me you won’t die,” she says, bluntly.

In that moment I’d promise her just about anything. “I promise.”

Her grip on my hand tightens, her fingers intertwined with mine. She steps closer. The wind picks up again and I reach up to brush some hair out of her face, holding my hand there against her cheek.

And that’s when Eight teleports onto the roof.

Six jumps away from me like she’s been scalded. I could pretty much strangle Eight right then and not feel any remorse. I expect Eight to crack some joke, but his face is set and serious.

“Guys, we need you downstairs!”

“What is it?” Six asks, starting towards Eight. “Mogs?”

Eight shakes his head. “It’s Ella.”

I guess my dad was wrong about this being one of those quiet nights.

Eight takes our hands and I immediately get the disorienting feeling of having the world yanked out from under me. I blink my eyes and we’re suddenly standing in the room that Marina shares with Ella.

Ella is on her back in bed, all the blankets kicked off, rigid as a board. Her eyes are squeezed shut. Perhaps the most frightening thing is the small trickle of blood dribbling down from the corner of her mouth. She’s bitten down on her lip, hard enough to draw blood.

Marina kneels next to the bed, dabbing at Ella’s mouth with a tissue. She keeps whispering Ella’s name over and over, trying to wake her up. Ella doesn’t move except to clench and unclench her fists in the sheets.

“How long has she been like this?” my dad asks.

“I don’t know,” says Marina, sounding panicked. “She went to bed before me, said she was tired from training. I found her like this and she won’t wake up.”