"I can transmute small objects," she says bluntly, lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug. "If I can see what one of your bullets looks like, I can probably make more out of other stuff." Maybe. She's sort of counting on this whole dream business canceling out the real-world logistical difficulties of transmuting worked metal (not to mention the whole not-changing-them-back thing, which is sort of frowned upon). On the bright side, there's no shortage of dead electronics in the hotel room that she could pull apart for scrap, and there's a respectable beam of sunlight shining through the grimy window. It would be better still if she could break it, assuming that doing so wouldn't endanger all their lives.