My gaze drifts to Nigel. He was the essence of confidence in that YouTube video, the clear leader of this ragtag group. He’s still trying to exude that now, his arms stretched across the backs of two seats, wanting to look supercasual about his first-ever ride in an alien spacecraft. The whole punk-rocker costume, now splattered with blood and mud, looks like a kid playing dress-up. As I watch, he reaches one of his slender hands inside his vest and pulls out a crushed pack of cigarettes. He manages to find a cigarette that’s mostly whole and sticks it between his lips. When it comes to lighting up, Nigel can’t manage it. His hands are shaking too bad.

“You can’t smoke that in here,” I tell him. That’s not really true. There aren’t any rules about smoking in this cursed ship, and if there were, I wouldn’t care about breaking them. I just want to give Nigel an excuse to stop struggling with his lighter.

Nigel puts away the cigarettes and flashes me a crooked grin. “Hoped you aliens would have a more enlightened perspective on lung cancer, what with your healing powers and all,” Nigel says, anxiously cracking his knuckles. “So, ah, we off to the next fight now or . . . ?”

“You can relax,” I tell him. “We’re going someplace safe. Hopefully, no more fighting today.”

They shouldn’t be fighting at all.

A voice in my head. In the last row of the passenger area, Ella peeks over the back of a seat. Her vivid electric eyes meet mine.

What do you mean? I ask telepathically, remembering Lexa’s comment about this group’s readiness.

They’re being brave, but there is so much fear, Ella says. We were born into war, Six. Even I had years to prepare myself for this possibility. They’ve had hours. We should be protecting them, not marching them into battle.

As if on cue, Fleur begins to cry quietly. Daniela goes to her and gently rubs her back.

What other choice do we have? I ask Ella. It’s now or never. Win or die.

When all was lost on Lorien, the Elders sent us here to fight another day, Ella responds. Setrákus Ra doesn’t want to destroy Earth; he wants to colonize it. If we fail to stop him, these new Garde could form the backbone of the resistance to come.

That’s a bleak outlook, I say.

When you can see the future, you start to plan for all eventualities.

Looking around the cabin, I have to admit that Ella might be right. Some of these kids would be liabilities if we brought them to the assault on Setrákus Ra’s base. We’d have to spend half our time making sure they didn’t get killed.

Well, Ella adds, reading my mind. There’s one exception.

We both look at Ran, sitting rigid in her seat with her hands on her knees, palms up, almost like she’s meditating. Of the four, she’s the only one who doesn’t look at all shaken. She was ready to blast us when we landed at the falls and probably would’ve if Nigel hadn’t stopped her. She’s got the look of a survivor.

Ran senses me watching her and looks in my direction. According to Nigel, she hardly speaks any English. She holds my gaze for a moment, nods once and then goes back to her staring contest with the wall.

What’s her deal? I ask Ella.

She’s already endured great loss and much pain, Ella replies cryptically. She’s a fighter. Ella pauses. I’m sorry, Six; I shouldn’t be prying through their minds, and I shouldn’t be telling you all this.

I cross my arms and think about these new four, about the human Garde popping up all over the world, knowing that Ella’s still listening in.

Did the Entity put any thought into which humans it granted Legacies? Was it dumb luck? Were they selected for their potential? Did the Entity put them in places where it knew we’d need them?

You could ask the same questions about us, she replies.

That’s not an answer.

Isn’t it?

I give Ella a dirty look, but her eyes are closed now. She’s out of my head.

Maybe it’s better not to know how much of our lives is luck and how much is destiny. Better just to keep plowing forwards. If we can keep them alive long enough, maybe these kids will one day get to ponder the same existential questions on their way to doing something heroic. Hopefully, I’m alive and retired to an island by then.

An island with Sam. If there’s anyone on this planet who earned his Legacies, it’s him. No way is it just a coincidence. Everything he and his family have done to help the Garde, the Entity must have recognized that. He’s the one piece of this whole cosmic Legacy bullshit that makes sense to me.

I watch Sam from the cockpit doorway as he stares out the window, chewing on his lip, lost in thoughts of his own. I’ve seen that look before, just like I’ve seen the one that follows—his eyebrows shoot up, and he flinches like he just got splashed with cold water. That’s how Sam looks when he gets an idea.