Valentino laughs. “You can always come back and leave one in honor of me.”

“Nah, I want to make moments while I have you.”

It’s not the end of the world, since Valentino and I have the pictures, but I want to commemorate the journey we’ve taken since being on this bridge. From our starts to our stops to our new beginnings to bracing our ending. If I had a marker, I could write our names into the steel. Then I spot a wooden bench, there for any tired travelers. I grab my key and get down on my knees and begin carving—V-A-L-E-N-T-I-N-O—as he takes a picture of me vandalizing the city. When I’m done with his name, he pulls out Scarlett’s home key and starts scratching mine into the bench. It doesn’t take him as long to finish. It all reads like one word:

VALENTINORION

I like how his O flows into mine, as if he’s passing it on along with his heart. I’ll take every letter and kiss and breath from him before it’s time to live without him.

“I know where I want to go for our first date,” Valentino says.

“Where?”

“Times Square.”

“But that’s where—”

“Where I found out I was going to die.”

“And almost did.”

“It’s also where we met. I’d like to go back.”

“You sure it’s about us and not because you want to find your phone?”

“See? You know me well.”

I sigh. I can’t deny a dying guy’s wish. “Let’s go back to where it all started.”

Joaquin Rosa

2:00 p.m.

Joaquin stands in front of the camera, a mic pinned to his collar.

He’s sitting in one of Death-Cast’s privacy booths, intended for heralds who need a moment to themselves once the weight of the job begins crushing them. Joaquin himself is very tempted to scream right now after having read many of the ugly things being said about him and his company online. No, they didn’t have a flawless launch, but all their predictions have been accurate. Unfortunately, some slipped through the cracks because of . . . he can’t get into it. He must compose himself as his broadcast on the Death-Cast website goes live.