“So maybe they had already captured Two and were trying to draw some of you guys out before they killed her, which could explain why she was killed seconds after you responded. It could have been a bluff. Or maybe she knew what they were doing, and she killed herself to warn you guys away or something. Who knows. Those are just some guesses, right?”

“Right,” I say. But they are good guesses. Ones I hadn’t thought about. Ones I wonder if Henri had.

We ride in silence thinking about it. Six drives the speed limit and a few cars cruise past us. The highway itself is lined with overhead lights that make the rolling hills beyond look spooky.

“She could have been scared and desperate,” I say. “That could have led her to do something stupid, like write a careless post on the internet.”

Sam shrugs. “Just seems kind of unlikely to me.”

“But they could have already killed her Cêpan, and she could have become frantic. She must have been twelve, maybe thirteen. Imagine being thirteen and on your own,” I say before I realize I’m describing Six’s exact scenario. She glances at me, then turns back to the road.

“We never once thought it was a trick,” she says. “Though it kind of makes sense. Back then we were just scared. And my ankle was on fire. Kind of hard to think straight when it feels as though your foot is being sawed off.”

I nod my head gravely.

“But even after the initial fear, we still didn’t consider that angle. We replied, which is what put them on our tail. It was ridiculous for us to do. Maybe you’re right, Sam. I can only hope we’ve grown a little wiser, those of us still left.”

Her last sentence hangs in the air. There are only six of us left. Six of us against any number of them. And no way of knowing how we might possibly find one another. We’re the only hope. Strength in numbers. The power of six. The thought makes my heart pump at twice its normal speed.

“What?” Six asks.

“There’re six of us left.”

“I know there are. So what?”

“Six of us, and maybe some of the others still have their Cêpans; maybe they don’t. But six to fight who knows how many Mogadorians? A thousand? A hundred thousand? A million?”

“Hey, don’t forget about me,” Sam says. “And Bernie Kosar.”

I nod. “Sorry, Sam; you’re right. Eight of us.” And then all of a sudden I remember something else. “Six, do you know about the second ship that left Lorien?”

“A ship aside from ours?”