“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just—I kind of went through something similar with my parents the day they died. The morning newspaper was already out, but they had released another at some point. I’ll never forget, the New York Times had some headline about the United States being attacked and how hijacked jets destroyed the Twin Towers. Right there on the cover were the burning towers. The fire and the smoke . . . I remember squinting hard, like mad hard, thinking I might’ve been able to find my parents in a window.”

Valentino stops and stares at me.

“I was nine and stupid, sue me.”

“No, I’m not judging you. It’s really sad.”

“Yeah, well. Same deal with you and that Joaquin photo. Everyone thinks that moment is only Death-Cast history when it’s your history too.”

“And 9/11 history is also your history.”

“Proof of our lives changing, all on page one.”

“You won’t find our faces, though.”

“I’m not mad at that. I looked like shit that day. You’re fucking glowing, though.”

Valentino is either blushing or the sun is cooking his face. “Even with my scar?”

“You’re going to keep that shit trending, trust me.”

“Thanks, Orion.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders, and our bodies pushed together is seriously where it’s at. “What’s next?”

“That’s your call.”

“I’m calling on you to pick a place for me. A lesser-known gem.”

It takes a sec because I’m still caught up on Valentino’s arm around me and how freeing it feels to explore a space like this here in lower Manhattan than I would back up in the South Bronx. But then I remember a spot I haven’t even hit yet, one we can discover together.

A first for the both of us.

Rolando Rubio

9:47 a.m.

Rolando is in a café, hoping to meet his first Decker.

This wasn’t planned. In fact, it’s in the guidelines that Death-Cast heralds aren’t to arrange meetings with the Deckers. The company set this boundary between heralds and Deckers as if they’re therapists and clients who shouldn’t be friends, but Rolando doesn’t buy that this is simply because of professionalism. He suspects that Joaquin doesn’t want any of his operators held hostage by any Deckers or grief-stricken loved ones with nothing to lose and something to gain by getting Death-Cast’s secret. As if Rolando knows how the Deckers are identified, but Death-Cast not trading the secret to save an employee’s life would certainly be bad publicity.

Fortunately for Death-Cast, Rolando is no longer employed by them.