When that Death-Cast alarm went off, Dalma was terrified they were calling her childhood best friend Orion Pagan. Lord knows that boy is one bad heart attack away from joining his parents and her father in heaven. But instead the heralds were calling Valentino Prince, the beautiful stranger they’d met less than an hour before, and while she feels for him, she was relieved she wasn’t going to lose her best friend. In fact, Valentino has generously offered to donate his heart to keep Orion alive.

Unfortunately, all hope for that transplant has been thrown in the trash, as if that heart was no good.

Dalma will continue living in fear of Orion dying. Fantastic.

She isn’t petty; she has plenty to focus on instead of clinging to grudges. But Orion sacrificing his second chance at an easier life to tend to someone whose time will be cut short? Irresponsible and inconsiderate. Dalma isn’t sure she’ll ever be able to forgive that. She wonders if she’s to blame. For the past few years she’s shielded Orion from what she’s feeling, not wanting to add stress to his heart. He doesn’t know how it’s rare for an hour to pass where she’s not concerned that he’s having an attack and whether he’s battling it by himself—if he’ll even win. He doesn’t know how her grades drop every time he’s in the hospital because she keeps up this guise that she can handle it all. He doesn’t know that she doesn’t know how she’ll live if he dies.

Dalma is family, and Valentino is a stranger.

And yet, Orion chose the stranger over family.

Even over himself.

She was stunned that Orion, who always wants her company, told her to leave him alone. But Dalma can’t ever play that card because if she ever chooses anyone else—even herself—over Orion, she runs the risk of regretting it if Orion drops dead while she’s away.

Now here she is, back home in her bedroom, tired but too upset to fall asleep.

Dalma is cuddling with Moon Girl, her childhood doll with white button eyes and brown skin like her own. She’s always loved space. She sleeps under galaxy lights and dreams on pillows designed like constellations. Her walls are white except for the one behind her bed that’s wallpapered with dotted white stars. And her most prized object is the Cooper refractor telescope she won in her senior-year science fair; shout-out to the mummified mouse that got her the win. Maybe she should spend more time stargazing than obsessing over Mr. Constellation and his bad decisions.

Or reading the news on her phone about a shooting she experienced firsthand.

She gets out of bed and sets her phone to charge at her desk.