From the hushed way Eight speaks, I expect to see a Mogadorian scout on our trail. Instead, following his gaze, I see a chubby older man behind a food cart selling what’s advertised as a “Chicago-Style Hot Dog.” He hands one off to a customer; the hot dog is covered in pickle and tomato slices and chopped-up onions, barely contained in a bun.

“That’s the most monstrous thing I’ve ever seen,” Eight says.

I chuckle, and when my stomach suddenly growls, that chuckle turns into a full-on guffaw. “I think it looks sort of good,” I manage.

“Have I mentioned that I’m a vegetarian?” Eight asks, staring at me with mock revulsion. “But if it’s the frightening mess of a Chicago-style hot dog you desire, then so it shall be. I’ve never thanked you properly.”

Eight starts towards the vendor, but I grab him by the arm and drag him back. He grins at me.

“Change your mind?”

“What do you mean, you never thanked me properly?” I ask. “Thanked me for what?”

“For saving my life in New Mexico. You broke the prophecy, Marina. Setrákus Ra put his sword right through me and you—you brought me back to life.”

I can’t help blushing and looking down at my feet. “It was nothing.”

“It was literally everything to me.”

I look up, putting on my best version of Eight’s teasing smile. “In that case, I think I deserve more than a gross hot dog.”

Eight clasps his hands across his chest like I’ve wounded him. “You’re right! I’m a fool to think my life could be traded for a hot dog.” He grabs my hand and gets down on one knee, pressing his forehead to the back of my hand. “My savior, what can I ever do to repay you?”

I’m embarrassed, but can’t help laughing. I shoot apologetic looks to the people around us, most of them staring at Eight’s display with curious smiles. We must look like just two normal teenagers to them, goofing around and flirting.

I pull Eight back to his feet and, still holding his hand, continue on down the lakefront. The sun winks across the surface of the lake. It’s not quite the sea I was named for, but it’s beautiful all the same.

“You can promise me more days like these,” I tell Eight.

He squeezes my hand tightly. “Consider it done.”

Eight and I finally come back to the penthouse, our bellies full of greasy Chicago pizza. We’ve still got hours before Four and Six arrive in Arkansas, and Ella never sent up any telepathic alarm. Everything is just as we left it.

Except Nine is awake and standing so close to the elevator door that we almost crash into him when we enter.