Eliza's mom makes her shave her head and pack for induction. 

"Mom, there isn't going to be a last-minute death in the enclave," Eliza sighs. 

Her mother clucks her tongue at her. Mother isn't actually a member of the Chicago enclave, but she does work for them when she can, which is a lot, and Eliza was promised a spot--not in the enclave, but in the Scholomance--if there weren't enough enclave kids to use up all of Chicago's spots, and it had looked like that was going to happen right up until they accepted an application from a guy with a fourteen-year-old and now Eliza is going to have to face the one-in-twenty survival rate. 

She does not dwell on this. Dwelling won't fix it. 

"Short hair is practical anyway, and the things in your bag will help if you're attacked, I haven't put in letters or anything," Mom says firmly, and Eliza lets it go. There isn't anything Mom can do about it, no matter how she mutters and paces and makes ominous statements; nothing remotely good, anyway. Better to let her delude herself, if it'll work. 

Eliza's boyfriend is a proper enclaver. He said all his goodbyes to his family that evening, so his little siblings wouldn't have to stay up late. The two of them walk along the Chicago waterfront, admiring the moonlit--okay, city-lights-lit--bay. 

"Please don't die," Justinian says after a long silence. 

"I'll do my absolute best," she promises. One in twenty is shitty odds, but it's not zero in twenty; someone has to live, it might as well be her. She has, regardless, given the thirteen and twelve-year-olds strict instructions to lie if she dies and Justinian asks about it when they get in. "Don't you die either. I need you to come back to me." 

They share what might be their last kiss, and part before the hour sounds and induction comes to take Justinian away. 

And then there is a horrible yanking behind Eliza's bellybutton and all she can think is that something's gone horribly wrong.