After Scarlett’s accident, a friend asked if I had sensed something happened to her. Twins don’t have a concrete sixth sense to know everything going on with the other, even twins as close as us. I was out shopping for new concealer that afternoon because the shadows under my eyes were getting darker from too many nights where I couldn’t sleep because I was questioning my dreams of becoming a full-time model. I wasn’t standing in the middle of the drugstore, where I suddenly dropped my shopping basket as if a feeling of dread hammered my stomach out of nowhere. I only felt all that once I got the call from my parents. Though I wish I could close my eyes and concentrate and hear my sister’s heartbeat so I know she’s okay.

All I hear is the hum of the vending machine and footsteps approaching me and Dalma. The same nurse from before, the one who asked if Death-Cast called Orion, stops in front of us.

“Orion is drowsy, but you can see him now,” the nurse says.

“Thanks, Mary Jo,” Dalma says, getting up. “Come on, Valentino.”

“Really?” I ask. I’m relieved he’s okay, I just know I’m not family.

“You can hang back if you want, but you’re welcome to see him too.”

I follow her. I’m more than okay with finally escaping this waiting room where it feels like time stands still even though precious minutes are going unspent. I’m holding on to Dalma’s phone, and I check the signal bars again. It’s still three out of four. Dalma attributes that to the hospital’s connection.

We enter the ER and stand outside Orion’s curtained space.

“Knock, knock,” Dalma says.

“Come in,” Orion says.

I pull back the curtain, and Orion looks far worse than I expected. Curls are plastered to his sweaty forehead, and his eyes are red as if he’s been infected with some virus. He’s shivering even though he’s wrapped up in a blanket. One of those black Velcro armbands—I absolutely don’t know the medical term—is connecting him to the monitor that looks older than the computer in my mom’s office.

He weakly nods. “Hey.”

“Stupid question, but how are you feeling?” I ask.

“Just another day in the life,” Orion says. Then his eyes go wide, like he’s taken another jolt to the heart. “Shit, I’m sorry. I hate all this, but I’m so used to it at this point and—”

“You’re fine,” I interrupt. He doesn’t need to get worked up over that comment. “I’m relieved you’re alive. I also can’t believe you live like this.”

“Unfortunately,” Orion says.

“Mom and Floyd are talking about driving back,” Dalma says.

“Tell them to stay. I’ll be fine.”

“You know they won’t,” she says.