Dalma and Scarlett enter my room. Scarlett’s hand is closed into a fist, but I’m going to put down money that what she has for me isn’t a punch to the face. I don’t know what it is, maybe it’s something of Valentino’s that she’s willing to part with and thinks I would like. Maybe a photocopy of his death certificate, which might seem morbid, but I would keep that in my treasure chest along with the news article of everything that went down in his building and all the 9/11 media I’ve collected over the years.

“So what is it?” I ask.

I’m not trying to be rude, but I’m in pain and feeling really broken even though Valentino’s heart is holding me together.

“There was something else on the camera,” Scarlett says.

“The video he recorded for you,” I say.

She nods. “It’s only four minutes and thirty-two seconds, but it took me a couple days before I had the strength to finish watching it. It just hurt too much. I never knew life without him and . . . Valentino may have been the first one in and out, but his last words were lovely. That’s helping.”

I don’t know what Valentino said to Scarlett. That’s not my business and never will be unless she decides she wants to talk about it instead of holding it close.

“But there was another video at the end,” Scarlett says. “At first I thought it was for me, but then Valentino said your name.”

My old heart would’ve stopped dead.

My new heart is coming to life.

Maybe too quickly, but I’m staying strong.

“He recorded a video for me?” I ask.

Scarlett nods. “I didn’t watch it. Obviously. I only discovered it last night, but I wanted to wait until you were home and settled before sharing.”

“But what if I had died before—”

Dalma’s puzzled look shuts me up.

If there was a chance I was going to die without getting to watch Valentino’s video, Death-Cast would have given us that heads-up.

“My bad.”

“It’s a new world,” Dalma says.

“It’s going to take some getting used to,” Scarlett says.

In more ways than one.

Scarlett opens her fist and reveals a USB flash drive. I already have my own that I’ve used for homework assignments in the past and for backing up my short stories in case my laptop dies for real. But inside this little memory keeper is a video of Valentino saying my name. Maybe more, and if not, that would still be enough.

“Thanks,” I say.

Scarlett smiles. “Back at you.”

I almost ask for what, but it’s clear what she’s thanking me for.

Everything.

“You want to watch it now?” Dalma asks.

“Hell yeah.”