We all stare at it, unsure what to say. First of all, it’s tiny. It looks the perfect size for a six-year-old kid, not for three teenagers. Second, the trip from Santa Monica to our house can take an hour by car. I can only imagine how long it would take by scooter—and none of us have helmets, either. Third and most important, it looks all types of strange. It’s covered in shiny blue scales, and two webbed ears poke out from the handle bars. Little wings are attached to either side of the front wheel, and a pointy tail sticks out from the back. It looks like the spawn of a dragon mom and scooter dad.

“Uh, what is that?” Emmett asks.

“He’s a dragon-on-wheels. We Miru use them before our gifts kick in—when our parents want us to practice moving at super speed, but within safe parameters. I guess you could call them training wheels for protectors.” He pats the handlebars affectionately.

“Ahh!” I point at the back. “His tail just wagged!”

Noah tickles the scooter behind the ears. “My man Boris and I go way back. Ever since I got him for my sixth birthday. A real firecracker, this one. He might be getting a bit rusty, but he’s still got a few trips left in him. Don’t ya, buddy?”

Boris’s little wings flutter happily in response, but then he splutters and wheezes like an old man.

Noah looks a little embarrassed, but he quickly hides it with one of his easy smiles. “Sorry. I know he’s not perfect, but hopefully he’ll be better than nothing. Use him for as long as you need.” He pushes the dragon-on-wheels toward Hattie.

“Thanks,” she says, though I can’t imagine what we’re going to do with it.

“Oh, and one more thing,” says Noah. He takes a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and extends it to her. “Here. You’ll need this, too, for the…”

The cutting, I silently finish for him, wincing.

“Thank you,” Hattie says. “This would’ve been impossible without you.”

“And please be careful, won’t you? I won’t forgive myself if something bad happens to you.”

Noah’s declaration of feelings toward my sister is so open and honest that even Emmett doesn’t dare to crack a joke.

Hattie pockets the knife and nods. “We will.”

And with that, she folds Boris, tucks him under her arm, and strides through the wall. As she passes through the mural, her body pixelates as if she’s a digital image in the middle of loading. Then she simply disappears.