I find Ella curled up in a chair in the penthouse living room. Nine is stretched out on the nearest couch, snoring loudly, his hands curled around the contracted metal tube that turns into the staff I’ve seen him use with such deadly efficiency. He must have gotten it from his Chest when he still thought there was a chance John would bring him along on the mission. Nine clutches the weapon like a teddy bear, probably dreaming of killing Mogadorians.

“You should get some sleep too,” I whisper.

Ella looks from me to the sleeping Nine. “He said he was just going to rest his eyes and then he’d show me some ass-kicking techniques.”

I giggle. There’s something hilarious about Ella parroting Nine’s language.

“Come on, there will be time for training later.”

Nine grumbles something in his sleep and rolls over, burying his face in the couch cushions. Ella stands up slowly and we tiptoe out of the room.

“I like Nine,” she announces as we walk down the hall. “He doesn’t care about stuff.”

My brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“He never asks me how I’m doing or, like, worries about me. He just makes gross jokes and lets me walk on his shoulders across the ceiling.”

I laugh, but I feel a bit wounded. All of us have been so worried about Ella, always trying to get her to open up about Crayton—I’m still supposed to do what John asked and get to the bottom of that letter—and along comes Nine, taking her mind off her troubles with bluster.

“We’re just worried about you,” I say.

“I know,” Ella replies. “It just feels better not to think about it sometimes.”

Maybe this is a good time to give Ella that gentle nudge John was talking about. “My Cêpan, Adelina, she spent a long time trying not to think about her destiny—about our destiny. But eventually she didn’t have a choice. She had to face it.”

Ella doesn’t say anything, but I can tell by the way her face is scrunched up that she’s thinking about my words.

I find myself detouring away from the bedrooms and instead heading back into Sandor’s workshop. I stand over the plugged-in tablet, watching the dots that represent Four and Six crawl slowly towards Five’s stationary dot in Arkansas.

“Are you worried about them?” Ella asks.

“A little,” I reply, although I know the others will be fine. Even after meeting Nine, Six is still the toughest and bravest person I’ve ever met. And Four is everything Six said he would be—a good guy, the leader we need, even if sometimes I can tell he feels like he’s in over his head.

“I hope Five is a boy,” announces Ella. “There aren’t enough boys for all of us.”