Eight teleports, taking Nine with him. He reappears just inches away from the ceiling and releases Nine. Disoriented, Nine doesn’t have a chance to gather himself and crashes to the floor on his back. Before Nine even lands, Eight has teleported back to my side.

“Ta-da,” he says, reassuming his normal form.

“You’re just going to make him mad,” I whisper. Eight only shrugs.

Nine hops back to his feet and rolls his head from side to side, cracking his neck. He nods, looking almost impressed.

“Pretty good move,” he says.

“Maybe I should be training you,” quips Eight.

“Try it again.”

Shrugging, Eight shape shifts again. He wraps Nine in the same hug, this time approaching warily, as if he’s expecting Nine to launch a counterattack. I’m expecting the same thing, cringing as I wait for Nine to throw an elbow into Eight’s face. Surprisingly, Nine doesn’t fight back at all.

Eight teleports them back to the ceiling again, but this time, when he’s released from Eight’s grasp, Nine quickly reaches his hand up to touch the ceiling. It makes me queasy just to watch; Nine’s gravity shifting so that instead of falling to the floor, he’s doing a handstand on the ceiling. It all takes no more than a second.

Eight’s already teleported away, reappearing back at my side. Just like Nine was expecting. Nine launches himself from the ceiling and, as soon as Eight materializes, Nine is plummeting towards him. Eight only has a moment to notice that Nine isn’t lying on the floor where he expected him to be. The next thing he knows, Nine’s foot is connecting with his sternum, sending him flying to the ground.

Eight picks himself up onto his elbows, wheezing, the wind knocked out of him. Nine stands over him, his hands on his hips.

“Predictable,” Nine says. “Why would you teleport back to the same place?”

In answer, Eight coughs, rubbing his chest. Nine reaches down and helps him to his feet.

“It’s all about surprise with you, man,” Nine explains. “You gotta keep ’em guessing.”

Eight lifts up his shirt. There’s a foot-shaped bruise already forming over his ribs. “Damn. That was like getting hit with a sledgehammer.”

“Thanks,” says Nine, and looks at me. “Here’s some practice for you.”

I place my hands gently on Eight’s chest. The icy feeling of my Legacy tingles in my fingertips, passing through me and into Eight. It’s only a bruise so it’s easy; I don’t even have to concentrate. Which is good, because it’s not that easy for me to concentrate while touching Eight’s chest. If this is what training is going to be like, I could get used to it.

“Thanks,” says Eight, when I step back.