I find Six sitting in the penthouse’s spacious living room. Her legs are tucked underneath her on a plush white couch, a cup of coffee cradled in her hands. We haven’t talked much since coming back from New Mexico. I’m still not totally comfortable being around her and Sarah at the same time. I think Six might feel the same, because I definitely get the sense that she’s avoiding me. Six looks up when I enter, her eyes half opened and drowsy. She looks as tired as I feel.

“Hey,” I say. “How was she last night?”

Six shakes her head. “She was up all night. She’s just now getting some good rest.”

Add Ella’s nightmares to the list of problems we need to deal with. They’ve been a nightly thing ever since we left New Mexico, so bad that Six and Marina have been alternating sleeping in her room, trying to make sure she doesn’t get too freaked out.

I lower my voice. “Does she tell you what she sees?”

“Bits and pieces,” Six says. “She hasn’t been real talkative, you know?”

“Before New Mexico, Nine and I had visions that seemed a lot like nightmares,” I say, trying to think this through.

“Eight mentioned something similar.”

“At first we thought they were Setrákus Ra taunting us somehow, but they also seemed like some kind of warning. At least, that’s how I thought of them. Maybe we should try figuring out what Ella’s mean.”

“Sure, I guess they could be some coded message,” Six says dryly, “but have you considered there’s a simpler explanation?”

“Like what?”

Six rolls her eyes. “Like she’s a kid, John. Her Cêpan just died, she was almost killed herself just a couple days ago, and who knows what’s in store for her next? Hell, I’m surprised we don’t all have nightmares every freaking night.”

“There’s a comforting thought.”

“These aren’t real comforting times.”

Before I can reply, Eight appears on the couch next to Six. She jumps, nearly spilling her coffee and immediately fixes Eight with a steely glare. Eight puts his hands up defensively.

“Whoa, sorry,” he says. “Don’t kill me.”

“You have got to stop doing that,” Six replies, setting down her coffee.

Eight is dressed in workout clothes, his curly hair shoved underneath a fuzzy sweatband. He nods to me, then aims his most disarming smile at Six.

“Come on,” Eight says, “you can take it out on me in the Lecture Hall.”

Six stands up, pleased by the idea. “I’m going to pummel you.”

“What’re you guys working on?” I ask.

“Hand to hand,” answers Eight. “I figured since Six pretty much murdered me back in New Mexico—”

“For the last time, that was not me,” Six interrupts, annoyed.