“No, really. I’ll live,” Valentino says. Then he pauses as he hears himself, now haunted by his own words. It’s wild how a simple sentiment takes on a new life when you’re dying. He brushes it off, something he’s going to have to do often if he’s going to make it through his End Day—I imagine. “I just want to go home and rest. Prepare the place for Scarlett. Then go to my photo shoot in the morning. My first campaign is a cool way to be immortalized.”
“Still got to throw some linguini into that plan,” I say. “Maybe some legit New York pizza if you’re into that.”
Dalma’s eyes are closed as she’s breathing into her cupped palms. She’s not keeping herself warm in this chilly room; she’s keeping herself shut. But her words break free. “I don’t want to sound heartless—”
“Off to a bad start,” I interrupt.
“Oh my god, I’m sorry.” Dalma talks with her hands a lot, and right now as she’s quiet and processing her next words, her hands are frozen in the air, just up until she’s going again. “Believe me, Valentino, I hate myself for saying what I’m about to say because this is such a gift you’re giving Orion. He’s my family, and I’m so protective of him so I got to say . . . I got to say that I’m really scared that you’ll jeopardize this operation if you leave the hospital. If something happens to you, then . . .”
Valentino’s head drops, like he’s being scolded. “I understand.”
“Obviously, we’ll hold off as long as we can for you to have time with your sister, but the most logical thing we can do is keep you here for the next few hours.”
Someone wanting to save my life has never felt so horrible.
“Dalma, I love you, but hard no on all this. We’re not giving Valentino deadlines on his End Day.”
Valentino fights back a yawn. “Dalma is right. I’m tired and not thinking clearly. Having dinner in the middle of the night or attending a photo shoot shouldn’t outweigh everything you’ll get to do with my heart.”
I crouch beside Valentino, gazing into his reddened blue eyes. “What you want to do for me is so beyond beautiful that I’m already indebted to you, even if nothing happens. But I’m not going to live the life you want for me if it means you not living yours out while you can.”
Dalma is staring daggers. “Orion, can we talk outside?”
“Happily,” I say sharply.
I squeeze Valentino’s shoulder on the way out, closing the door behind me.
Dalma clasps her hands together, like she’s in prayer. “Please let this boy save your life.”
“Please stop encouraging him to drop dead fast.”
“You’re setting yourself and Valentino up for failure. Be logical. If Valentino can basically die in his sleep, isn’t that so much more merciful than whatever horrific tragedy awaits him otherwise?”
The longer Valentino lives, the closer he’s pushed to his death. I get that. But I can’t make peace with deciding when he clocks out. “This has to be his call, Dalma.”
“I’m sure he’ll be open to your input. It’s your heart now.”
“Nope, it’s still his heart.”
“It won’t be anyone’s heart if he dies.”
“Then it’s not meant to be.”
This little fairy tale might have an unhappy ending.
If only Death-Cast could tell us how someone was going to die so we could try to dodge it, or even what time it was going to happen so we know how many hours—or minutes—we’re working with here. The stakes are too high.