I try not reading into the hand-holding—tons of people hold hands! Dayana holds Dalma’s and Dahlia’s hands, and they’re family. My mom would hold my hand too, even as I was getting older—my dad not so much, which is cool with me—though I now regret every time I shrugged my mom off because I thought eight years old was too old to be holding my mom’s hand. That was stupid. Just like I’d have to be stupid to compare all these people to Valentino, who is staring at me with his blue eyes in a way that sets him apart.

“If you want to go to the site,” Valentino says, “I would happily go with you.”

“Once again, I can’t make your End Day about me.”

He lifts my hand, squeezing as he presses it to my chest and then his. “We’re in this together, Orion. I want to help heal your heart in every way possible. But only if you’re ready.”

I think I could be a hundred years old and not be ready to step foot at Ground Zero, where my parents and thousands others died. But waiting until it’s your End Day to start living means you won’t have time to do it all. Your life will be divided into firsts and lasts and nevers.

I don’t want to die never having stood where my parents last did.

I’m going to make this a first.

Clint Suarez

11:12 a.m.

Death-Cast called Clint Suarez last night to tell him he’s going to die today, or more specifically, the man sitting across from Clint in his favorite café is the one who told him that his life is over. And just like last night, his operator, Rolando Rubio, is listening to Clint’s life story.

It’s a long one.

Back when Clint was a little boy—eleven years old, if memory serves him right—he boarded his very first flight with his mother. He couldn’t believe how fast planes bulleted down the runway. It was the kind of impossible speed he’d seen before only in the fairly new Superman comic books. Clint was so excited for the adventure to the States back then, not fully understanding that he’d been leaving Argentina so his mother could escape his father. As Clint got older, his sweet mother helped him better understand why they had to leave his monstrous father behind; if Clint ever returned home, he would be sure to dance on his father’s grave.

The story seems to strike a chord with Rolando.

“What made her finally leave?” he asks.

“She didn’t trust me to be raised by him . . . should something happen to her.”

“Do you mean if your father happened to your mother?”