There’s an awkward pause, neither of us really sure what to do. I wish we could’ve had just fifteen minutes more alone on the rooftop. I feel like that would’ve been enough to figure out whatever is going on between us. Now, we’re standing here like a couple just back from a really bizarre first date, neither sure what the other is thinking nor whether it’s an appropriate time to make a move. Well, maybe Six knows exactly what I’m thinking and just doesn’t know what to do with that information. I certainly don’t have a clue what’s going through her mind. I feel like I should say or do something, but then the moment passes, her hand drops away from my arm, and she turns to join the others. Whatever is between us, it’ll have to wait.

Nine’s penthouse seems even bigger now that it’s emptied out. I wander through the deserted halls and lavish rooms, not really sure what to do with myself. I end up going back to Ella’s room to check in, just as Sarah is leaving. It’s the first time that she’s been away from John since he went down.

“Your dad is making me eat something,” she explains sullenly, looking exhausted from staying awake for the entire night.

“Yeah, he’s got this thing about people not starving to death,” I reply. Sarah gives me a weak smile and I put my hand on her back, guiding her towards the kitchen. She rests her head on my shoulder as we walk.

“We’ve had so many arguments about one of us getting hurt. It’s like the most frequent fight of our relationship.” She laughs bitterly. “Funny thing is, I always thought it’d be me, not John. He’s supposed to be untouchable.”

“Geez, Sarah, you’re acting like he’s been chopped in half or something. He’ll probably pop awake in an hour and be mad they went on the mission without him.” I try to sound optimistic. Sarah is probably too tired to notice the uncertainty in my voice.

“If he was chopped in half, they could probably heal him,” she says. “This is something else. I can see the pain on his face. It’s like he’s being tortured in front of me and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

I pour Sarah a glass of water and take some leftover Chinese food out of the fridge. I don’t bother heating it up. We eat in silence, picking at cold fried rice and boneless spareribs straight from the cartons. I repeat the phrase he’ll be fine over and over in my head, like a mantra, until I’m confident that I can say it with conviction, even if I’m not entirely convinced it’s true.

“He’ll be fine,” I tell Sarah firmly.