Dalma looks over her shoulder, as if she’s expecting me to elaborate on why that coincidence is important. It isn’t. “Keep him upright,” she says.

I don’t understand why keeping Orion upright is necessary, but I do as I’m told. I shift his head so that his face is resting on my shoulder. His eyes are closed, and he keeps pressing his hand into his heart like he’s giving himself CPR. I suppose that’s what he’s doing. I don’t know how much it’s helping, since he’s also trying so hard to get a full breath in, but he’s stopped short every time. This is what it looks like to fight for your life.

Dalma spots a taxi, and it becomes a race between her and someone else. She wins and guards the door to the passenger seat with her life. I do my best to get there as quickly as possible without falling, and when I reach the car, I prop up Orion in the middle and stretch the seat belt over his waist.

“Is he okay?” the driver asks.

“No,” Dalma says. “Please get us to Lenox Hill Hospital.”

“You should call an ambulance,” he says.

“My brother will die in your car if you don’t get a move on now!”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

The driver begins our journey, and he keeps watching Orion from the rearview mirror. It’s not even during red lights either, it’s while he’s actively driving. It’s drivers like this why my sister was almost killed.

“Can you please keep your eyes on the road?”

The please doesn’t mask the attitude in my voice, but it does the trick.

As we’re driving, I can’t help but wonder if I’m endangering Orion and Dalma by being in the car. If I’m marked to die, does that make me a magnet for death? I don’t know, but it’s a really lonely thought to have. Isn’t the whole point of Deckers getting these End Day calls to give them a chance to get their affairs in order and hug their family and friends one last time? I suppose that doesn’t matter, since my family is on the other side of the country.

I reach for my phone, ready to call Scarlett to break the news. But it’s not in my pocket. I triple-check my pockets in my pants as if it’ll magically manifest since the third time’s always the charm. Nothing, of course. Where could it—

Damn it.