OK like I said, now that I have started to invent my character, I'll do one on Seven. So, here it goes...

I've returned to my room, and lay in the bed staring at the ceiling.

I can't stand it anymore.

I can't take it here.

Three are dead already; how can I sit here waiting for it to be my turn? I get to my feet, this time not even bothering to try sneaking out.

I've made a resolution. I'm leaving tonight, whether or not Adelina decides to come.

I pull my bag from under my bed, and throw in my few belongings. I reach under the mattress and pull out the envelope holding the gems we received when we left Lorien. I look in it briefly, then seal it and push it in my bag. I make my way out of the room, not bothering being silent about it. The sister on watch looks at me sharply, moving to ask, but I just ignore her and walk out.

I turn down the halls and make my way to Adelina's chambers.

"Adelina," I said. I shook her awake. "I'm leaving, tonight." She looks up at me, confused. Then her eyes focus.

"What?" she asks stupidly. I want to hit her.

"I'm leaving, right now," I snap. "I'm finding the others, right now."

"What others?"

"The other Garde," I say, struggling to stifle my temper.

"Oh, your childish fancies," she mutters. I reach out and slap her across the face, hard enough to leave traces of my fingers on her cheek.

"They are not fancies, and you know it very well," I snarl. "Or have you already forgotten your beloved Charlie?" I brandish the one weapon I have; her dead love. She flinches.

"It's not real," she mutters to herself. I'm tempted to slap her again, but I don't.

"Good bye, Adelina," I say. Then I slip into Loric. "Mo'pocus-xuste'ibas." I say the traditional Loric farewell.

"Wait," she says, sitting upright slowly. "Marina."

I put my hand up and cut her off. "My name isn't Marina. My Lorien name was Nema. And now, I am Number Seven." I turn and leave her room. She doesn't follow. I walk straight out of the abbey, and down the street. There's a pawn shop a block away, and I storm into it. A startled man sits up, a paper sticking to his face with coffee rings on it. He'd been asleep.

"How much will you give me for a pure two carat emerald?" I cut to the chase. He pauses, brow furrowed.

"If you had such a thing, well, I could probably scrape together around three thousand depending on the quality," he says. I have a feeling in my gut I could get more for it, but I don't want to waste time. I open my bag and, keeping the envelope hidden, reach about and look for something I assume to be around two carrots that's green. I pull it out, close my bag, and swing it over my shoulder. I show it to him, and he gawks.

"How much is it worth," I say.

"This is at least thr-" he cuts off. He looks at me. "Two carats, you say?" He looks at it under a magnifying glass, though we both know very well it's flawless.

"Well, that one's at least three carats," I say, going off what he said. He curses himself quietly for his slip.

"Well, then, I might be able to scrape together four grand but-" I cut him off.

"We both know it's worth more."

"Five?" I arch an eyebrow. "Six." I cross my arms. "Seven, final bid," he says.

"Seven and a half grand, take it or leave it," I say. I know I shouldn't be wasting time bargaining with this dope (He WAS a dope, he still had the paper on his face) but I wanted good money for it.

"Fine," he shakes my hand, and slides the emerald into a little bag that he throws in a safe under the counter. He pulls a box from the safe, and begins counting out hundred dollar bills. He hands them to me, and I count through them. $7,500. I nod, and walk out of the shop.

"Pleasure doing business with you!" he yells after me.

I don't respond.

I stood in line, looking down at my fake passport and my airplain ticket. My fake passport finally gave me leave to use my Lorien name; Nema. My name was now Nema Sheraldi. I had bought it from a perfessional counterfeiter on a street corner. Finally, it was my turn. The security guard looked at my ID, then me, then my ID. He stamped the passport, and handed it back to me. He ushered me on.

I let out my breath, and went through the metal detector. It didn't go off, so I didn't stop. I looked down at the ticket; gate 32. I look around until I see the glowing numbers way down the hall, and make my way to them. I sit in one of the available seats, fidgeting and waiting for us to be called to board.

The little electronic letters read "Destination: New York City." The first leg of my journey. Then, off to Ohio. I looked down at my ticket. My seat was in row 28, the far back row, seat C. A window seat. Finally, they started calling us to board.

"Loading: Zone Two," the attendant said into the intercom. I stood too quickly and stumbled, but caught myself. I strode towards the door, handing the woman my ticket. She ripped off the end and handed the end to me, then ushered me through. Butterflies began to die. I made it. I actually made it through. I was finally leaving.

I pushed back through the plane, and found my seat. I found an empty space in the overhead compartments, and slid my bag into it. I sat down in my seat, buckling my belt. There was only one seat on this side of the aisle, and two on the other. A boy and someone who appeared to be his father took up residence there. The boy was 17 or so, perhaps a year older than I at my real age, though with my fake age I was no doubt older than him.

"Hey," he said with a grin. I noted he spoke English. I nodded at him, my face turning red a little. Dark hair fell in blue eyes, and he grinned a white toothed grin.

"Hi," I said with a nod.

"Where you going?" he asked.

"Ohio," I answer. "You?"

"Same," he answers.

"Really?" I ask. "What business do you have there?"

"Well..." he hesitated, obviously trying to come up with a lie. "My... Da and I are thinking about moving there." I arch an eyebrow. He seems eager to turn the topic away from him. "Why are you going?" I'm happy I'm a more fluid liar.

"My cousin seems to have gotten himself into some trouble, and would like me to help him out," I say, thinking of John Smith.

The plane taxies to the runway, and then takes off. I cast my gaze down and can't help but notice he's wearing shorts. Down around his ankle, just over his sock, I can see a perfect ring of a scar. I gasp, and my eyes widen. I stare at him, beyond the point of shocked. I push myself against the window. Terror races through my mind, and I can't help but think of how I have endangered the others, and myself. The charm is broken.

I try to get as far away as I can, and he stares in confusion. I kick back, still trying to get further away, desperately hoping the charm won't break. He looks down at my ankles, where they are seen between my flip-flops and jeans. His eyes widen, too. My breath catches in my throat.

"Who are you?" he demands. When I don't answer, his hand snaps across the aisle and grabs my wrist. "Who. Are. You."

"I should ask you the same thing," I answer, staring wide eyed at him. People were starting to notice something and were turning their heads. I pry his hand away from my wrist, and resettle myself. He notices the people watching, and settles down. His father – or, rather, more likely his Cêpan – looks over in mild confusion, then he notices my ankles.

"My name is-" I say, but the Cêpan cuts me off.

"Nema?" he asks, clearly startled. I focus in on him.

"... Sorry, forgive me," I say. "I don't believe I remember your name, but..." I trail off, then recognize his face. "Mark?" He nods. He gestures to the Garde boy beside him.

"This is Number Eight, or, as you would know him, Duncan." I nod to him. He then introduces me to Duncan. "This is Number Seven. Her name is Nema." I nod to Duncan, vaguely remembering a dark haired little boy that I would play with on the ship. I look at him.

I'd found Eight.