I feel like we’re connecting, I’m not just telling myself some story. I legit believe that if Death-Cast hadn’t called Valentino, then I would have put my number into his phone and we would’ve made plans to hang out—maybe even directly called it a date—and gotten to know each other at a fast-and-steady rate. But we don’t get a tomorrow; we’re barely getting a today. Soon, his sister will land in New York and they’ll spend as much time together as they can, and if all goes well, we’d reunite at the hospital for the surgery, where it will be too late to live like we are right now—two guys sharing a bed in the middle of the night, opening our hearts to each other like when we first met.

I don’t want to regret not saying anything—not taking action.

“Valentino?” I whisper.

I wait for him to say my name back, but he only answers with a gentle snore, one that rumor has it will erupt through this empty studio in no time. I stay up as long as I can, listening to Valentino sleep before I finally pass out too.

Scarlett Prince

1:09 a.m. (Mountain Standard Time)

The plane was supposed to take off now, but instead, it remains grounded with the pilot still sealed away in the cockpit—and armed forces outside. Scarlett assumes the pilot himself must’ve alerted someone. Before anyone could even escape through the emergency exit, security and police officers surrounded the plane, instructing everyone to stay inside as they investigate the threat.

“Remain calm,” the pilot had said after quelling all concerns about flying everyone to their deaths.

But how can people remain calm if they were never calm in the first place?

Passengers are banging on windows and threatening the copilot and flight attendants.

Scarlett is scared for her life, but knows she shouldn’t be.

If she were going to die, then Death-Cast would’ve called.

Naya Rosa

4:30 a.m.

Death-Cast did not call Naya Rosa because she isn’t dying today, but how can anyone be sure after a Decker has managed to slip through the cracks of their system?

And then another and another and another.

Four lives gone without warning. These are only the reported cases so far. How many more stories will come out by the morning? How many souls will have moved on without anyone to even announce their untimely passing?

The birth of Death-Cast was supposed to be the death of worry.

But worry is all Naya feels in her heart right now.

Is her son safe? Her husband? Herself?

What about all the dedicated employees who are still working the phone lines, closing out this final hour as they reach out to Deckers on the West Coast? Naya is concerned for their mental wellness too. How many of them are ready to snap under the weight of grief?