“That’s good news,” he says.

If I were more confrontational, I’d challenge him. I may not be alone, but the right people aren’t here. Scarlett doesn’t arrive until the morning, though maybe I should stop her from going and book my own flight back home so I can see everyone. Scarlett, high school friends, kind neighbors. Maybe even my parents will give me the time of day now. But time is so limited. Hours spent at the airport and on the plane could be spent living.

All these thoughts are too surreal.

I came to New York City to change my life, and instead I’m going to die here.

I refocus on the call, ready to move on. “Unless you have something more concrete to share, I guess this is it.”

“Before you go, Valentino, I’d like you to know that on death-cast.com there are various resources on how to talk about your End Day with loved ones, written by some top-tier grief counselors. There will also be different activities updated throughout the day that may be worth participating in,” Joaquin says.

Does Death-Cast really think Deckers are going to sit around doing nothing?

I already have plans today. I’m going to sleep in my new apartment before my photo shoot in the morning. Then Scarlett and I are going to explore the city and set up our home and probably celebrate everything by eating dinner on our hardwood floor and using our boxes as tables. And sometime after, or many hours before, I’m apparently going to die.

“I have plans” is all I say.

“Very well. I’ll leave you to it,” Joaquin says. “On behalf of Death-Cast, we are sorry to lose you. Live this day to the fullest.”

No one is going to lose me. I’m not going to be lost.

I’m going to live.

Right as I’m about to hang up the phone, a gunshot echoes across Times Square.

Orion

12:06 a.m.

Just when I thought the Death-Cast ringtone was the scariest thing I’d hear tonight, there’s a gunshot.

Gunshots.

Everyone who’s been surrounding Valentino starts fleeing in different directions, like roaches when the lights come on. Then a white man with a skull mask appears out of nowhere, firing his gun. Dalma tugs at my wrist so we can get the hell out of here, but I brake when I see Valentino standing still like one of those living statue performers. I wonder if Valentino is shocked at the skull-masked man aiming his gun at him or if he’s simply accepted his fate.

But I haven’t.