I place my index finger on the foggy window and trace a figure onto it with two quick squeaks.

“That’s the number three,” Ella says.

“That’s right, kiddo. I bet you can do better than that, huh?”

She smiles, sticks her finger onto the bottom of the window, and soon there is the beginning of a beautiful farmhouse and backyard barn. I watch as my number three is absorbed by Ella’s perfect silo.

Three is the only reason I was allowed to leave that café today, it’s the distance from John Smith to myself. I’m now absolutely convinced that he is Number Four by the way he is being hunted; just as I’m convinced the man at the café was a Mogadorian. This town is so small I rarely see someone I don’t recognize, and his book—Pittacus of Mytilene and the Athenian War—plus his constant stare, are no coincidence. The name “Pittacus” is one I’ve heard since childhood, since long before we made it to Santa Teresa.

My number: Seven. It’s my only refuge now, my greatest defense. As unfair as it might be, I’m separated from death by the three others who all must die before me. So long as the charm holds, which, I assume, is why I was left alone and not attacked right at the café table. But one thing is certain: if he is a Mogadorian, they know where I am and they could take me any time they choose and hold me until they kill Four through Six. I wish I knew what’s keeping them at bay and why I’m allowed to sleep in my bed again tonight. I know the charm ensures that we can’t be killed out of order, but perhaps there’s more to it than that.

“You and I, we’re a team now,” I say. Ella puts the finishing touches on her window drawing, curling her fingernails over the heads of a few cows to give them horns.

“You want to be a team with me?” she asks in a tone of disbelief.

“You bet,” I say, and hold out my pinky. “Let’s pinky-swear on it.”

She smiles widely and hooks her pinky around mine. I shake it once.

“There, that settles it,” I say.

We turn back to the window, and Ella wipes her picture away with the heel of her palm. “I don’t like it here.”

“I don’t like it here either, believe me. But don’t worry, we’ll both be out of here soon enough.”

“You think so? We’ll leave together?”

I turn and look at her. That wasn’t what I had meant at all, but without thinking twice I nod in agreement. I hope it isn’t something I’ll regret promising. “If you’re still here when I leave, then we’ll leave together. Deal?”