I scratch Bernie Kosar’s head. I don’t think I could get used to calling him Hadley, but maybe I could get used to calling Six Maren Elizabeth. “I think you should take on a human name,” I say. “If not Maren Elizabeth, then something else. I mean, at least for when we’re in front of strangers.”

Everyone grows silent, and I reach behind me into the Chest for the velvet bag holding Lorien’s solar system. I set the six planets and the sun in my palm and watch them hover and glow to life. As the planets begin to orbit their sun, I find that I am able to dim the brightness of their glow with my mind. I intentionally lose myself in them, successfully forgetting just for a few moments that I might be seeing Sarah soon.

Six turns to look at the faint solar system that floats in front of my chest, and then she finally says, “I don’t know; I still like the name Six. Maren Elizabeth was when I was a different person, and right now Six just feels right. It can be short for something if someone asks.”

Sam looks over. “For what? Sixty?”

I set out seven mugs and a kettle on the stove. While waiting for the water to boil, I crush three of the pills I stole from Héctor’s mother into a fine powder with the rounded back side of a metal spoon. Ella stands beside me watching as she always does when it’s my turn to make the Sisters’ nightly tea.

“What are you doin’?” she asks.

“Something I’m probably going to regret,” I say. “But something I have to do.”

Ella flattens a piece of crumpled paper on the table and places the tip of her pencil on it. Immediately she’s drawing a perfect picture of the seven teacups I’ve lined up. From what I can get out of her, she met with a couple in Sister Lucia’s office who said they had “a lot of love to give.” I’m not sure how long the meeting lasted, but Ella says they’re coming back tomorrow. I know what it means and I pour the boiling water from the kettle as slowly as I can, trying to prolong my time with her.

“Ella? How often do you think about your parents?” I ask.

Her brown eyes grow wide. “Today?”

“Sure. Today, or any other day?”

“I don’t know . . .” She trails off. After a pause, she adds, “A million times?”

I bend down to hug her, and I don’t know if it’s because of how sorry I feel for her or how sorry I feel for myself. My parents are dead, too. The victims of a war I’m supposed to continue someday.