“Are you going to be admitted?” I ask.

“Probably,” Orion says. “I doubt I’m in the clear yet.”

I check the time. “Aren’t the Death-Cast calls ending soon on the East Coast?”

“By two o’clock,” Dalma says.

A lot can change in half an hour.

Everything can change in one minute.

“You’re going to be fine,” I say.

Orion shivers. “I’m hoping you’ll be good too. I mean, we literally dodged a bullet after Death-Cast called. Maybe we changed your fate.”

The thought gives me hope, like I’m not doomed to walk through my last day like some zombie.

“Maybe.”

“I should check if any Deckers have even died,” Dalma says, taking her phone back. “The whole system can be screwed up.”

This is literally day one of Death-Cast. Assuming their predictions are even real, there still has to be room for error. There’s no way they’re going to get everything right. I could be a mistake.

Now I’m a zombie coming back to life.

My eyeball gets sucked back into its socket.

My unhinged jaw screws back into place.

My bones mend and my skin regenerates.

I should call Death-Cast’s customer service number to confirm that my name is no longer on their to-die list or server or however they’re keeping track of the Deckers.

Dalma looks up from her phone, doom in her eyes. “I’m sorry. Joaquin Rosa shared a report a few minutes ago. Death-Cast obviously can’t track who has or hasn’t died, since it’s not like we’re microchipped, but there have been three confirmed Decker deaths.”

Just like that, my eyeball pops back out, my jaw swings loose, and my bones snap and pierce through my skin.

I’m a dead man walking.

“Thanks for investigating,” I say.

“All hope isn’t lost yet,” Orion says.

I shake my head. “It’s probably in my best interest to treat today like it’s my last.”

Orion and Dalma don’t waste their breath trying to protest.

All hope has flatlined.

“Thanks for saving my life, though,” I tell Orion. “However much of it I have left.”

Orion

1:40 a.m.

Surviving this latest near-death experience has taught me something huge: I’m rich in luck.

Don’t get it twisted, on most days I’d prefer cold, hard cash so I can do some damage in a bookstore or buy a new laptop that doesn’t die whenever it’s separated from its charger for more than a minute. But on nights like tonight, when it would’ve been so easy for my heart to just give up in Times Square, I got to recognize that my wallet is stacked with good fortune. I just wish I could share the wealth and drop some luck into Valentino’s empty cup. Maybe luck could save his life too.

I’m still not ruling out that he’s going to be okay.