Psychotic as his love of violence might seem, I find myself smiling and agreeing with Nine. That was actually a really good workout. It felt amazing to be able to push myself like that in an environment that wasn’t life or death.

“Man,” says Nine, picking himself up from the ground. “I had no way to dodge that last punch. Good move, dude.”

Eight turns his bruised face up towards Nine. “Yeah. I owed you one. Or, like, ten.”

I kneel down next to Eight and start healing his injuries. The icy feeling isn’t so startling anymore; in fact, it’s starting to feel more and more natural.

“Why’d you shape shift back?” Nine asks, picking at the gashes on his chest. “That lion dude bullshit was giving me fits.”

“I have to really concentrate to keep the form,” explains Eight. “Getting my head bashed in was definitely not helping my focus.”

“Okay,” says Nine, thinking this over. “Sandor’s got some nonlethal weaponry stashed somewhere. You should let me shoot stuff at you, and we’ll work on keeping your concentration.”

“Yeah,” Eight says dryly, “sounds like a blast.”

With Eight’s face returned to its far more appealing not-bruised state, I start to work on Nine’s wounds. “You know,” I tell him, “you’re actually really good at this.”

“Fighting? Uh, yeah, I know.”

“Not just fighting. I guess, um, thinking about fighting.”

“Strategizing,” puts in Eight. “She’s right. I don’t think I would’ve come up with that teleport punch if you hadn’t pushed me. And awful as getting shot at sounds, I actually think that practicing might be a good idea.”

Nine puffs up, even more than usual. “Well, you’re welcome.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” I say, watching the last cut on his chest slowly knit closed beneath my fingertips.

I glance up at Nine to find him looking past me, towards the doorway of the Lecture Hall. “Hey Ella,” he says, “did we wake you up?”

I turn around to see Ella standing in the doorway. She’s dressed in street clothes, the first time I’ve seen her out of pajamas or one of Nine’s baggy flannels in days. I’d think her getting dressed was progress, except her eyes are red-rimmed from crying. Ella doesn’t look at any of us, her eyes pinned to the floor.

“What’s wrong, Ella?” I ask, taking a few steps towards her.

“I—I just wanted to say good-bye,” Ella replies. “I’m leaving.”

“Like hell,” says Nine. “No more field trips today.”

Ella shakes her head, her hair whipping around her face. “No. I have to. And I’m not coming back.”

“What’s gotten into you?” I ask. And that’s when I notice it. Clutched tightly in Ella’s hands, practically crumpled from the way she keeps wringing it, is a piece of paper. Crayton’s letter.