Henri’s ashes.

“John . . . ,” I say, not accepting the can right away.

“Take him,” John replies, gently. “He belongs at the Sanctuary.”

“But don’t you want to be there? To say good-bye?”

“Of course I do. But with everything that’s happening, I don’t know if I’ll have a chance.” When I start to protest again, John cuts me off. “It’s okay, Six. I’ll feel better knowing he’s with you, headed to the Sanctuary.”

“If it’s what you want,” I say, accepting the ashes. “I’ll take care of him. I promise.”

I carefully place the can of Henri’s ashes in Marina’s Chest with the rest of our stuff. We all fall silent, the mood turning somber. It’s hard to have this kind of moment when you’re being watched, though. The government agents keep their distance, although I can see some of them, including Walker herself, watching us from a nearby porch.

“You going to be all right with them?” I ask John.

He looks around, noting all the prying eyes. “They’re on our side now, remember?”

“I have to keep reminding myself,” I reply, my gaze involuntarily turning towards the Skimmer. “Seems like I’m doing that a lot.”

Adam is already on board the Skimmer, along with Dust, the Chimæra that’s bonded with him. I’m taking John at his word that we can trust the wiry Mogadorian currently running diagnostics in the cockpit. I’m not sure Marina feels the same; she hasn’t said anything outright, but I can feel cold radiating from her whenever Adam’s near. After everything that’s happened, I can’t blame her for being suspicious. I’ve resigned myself to a very chilly flight to Mexico.

“Check in often,” John reminds me, tapping the phone that he’s clipped to the hip of his jeans like a total dork. Both Marina and I are now in possession of satellite phones, too bulky to wear as fashion accessories, so they’re stored with the rest of our supplies. The gear arrived courtesy of the U.S. Government, or at least the rebel-faction that Walker has ties with. Both Adam and Malcolm looked over the phones and assured us they aren’t bugged.

“Yeah, yeah,” I reply. “You, too, John. Stay in touch. Stay alive.”

“And take care of all our stuff,” Nine grumbles. He’s standing a few paces off, watching Marina mess with her Chest, his eyebrows furrowed. “I want some of those gems back, if possible. You know, for after. Need to buy a new place to live thanks to my shitty house-sitter over here.”

I shoot Nine a look. “Are you serious right now?”

He shrugs. “What? Gotta plan for the future!”

Marina looks up from her Chest and, with a sigh, tosses Nine a pair of dark gloves. “Here. I never figured out what to do with these.”

“Sweet,” Nine says, and pulls them on immediately. He flexes his fingers inside the leatherlike material, then violently thrusts his palms out towards John. “Did you feel anything, dude?”

John ignores Nine, looking at Marina. “Can we be sure those aren’t important? What if they’re a Phoenix Stone?”