It’s tense for a moment. Nine is still staring down Five. Ella raises her hand. “I’d like to share,” she says.

Her story is unlike any of the others I’ve heard. She wasn’t sent to Earth with the other Garde. Instead, her rich weirdo father shoved her onto a spaceship along with the family’s butler and a bunch of Chimæra. Looking around the table, I get the sense that not even some of the other Garde have heard this whole story. John looks particularly confused and Six listens intently.

“Wow, Ella,” John says. “When did you learn all this?”

“Yesterday,” she replies matter-of-factly. “It was in Crayton’s letter.”

Marina raises her glass. “To Crayton. A great Cêpan.”

Everyone follows suit. Ella’s gone quiet. I can tell this Crayton guy meant a lot to her.

“Just think,” muses Five. “If our spaceship hadn’t made it to Earth, you’d have to save the planet all by yourself.”

Ella’s eyes widen. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“You could handle it,” Nine says, grinning.

“So . . . ,” John says, looking at Five. “We’ve all told you how we came to be here. Your turn—how have you managed to stay hidden for so long?”

“Yeah, dude,” Eight chimes in. “Spill it.”

Five slouches down in his chair. For a moment, I think he’s just going to stay silent and hope that everyone forgets about him, like a kid hiding out in the back of a classroom. He’s great at making pointed little comments when other people talk, but when it’s time to tell his own story he’s more than reluctant.

“It’s not, um, exciting like your stories were,” Five begins after a moment. “We didn’t do anything special to stay hidden. We just got lucky, I guess. Found places where the Mogadorians weren’t looking for us.”

“Where was that, exactly?” John asks.

“Islands,” answers Five. “Tiny islands where no one would think to look. Some that aren’t even on maps. We’d go from island to island, sort of like how you guys traveled from town to town. Every few months we’d go to one of the more populated places—sometimes Jamaica, or Puerto Rico—and trade in some of our gems for supplies. Otherwise, we kept to ourselves.”

“What happened to your Cêpan?” Marina gently asks.

“Uh, I guess I do have that in common with the rest of you guys. He died. His name was Albert.”

“Mogadorians?” Nine asks, his voice hard.