“It’s just a party.” The train stops. He doesn’t respond. It’s possible Mateo not being a daredevil will keep us alive longer, but I’m not banking on it being a memorable End Day.

AIMEE DUBOIS

4:17 a.m.

Death-Cast did not call Aimee DuBois because she isn’t dying today. But she’s losing Rufus—lost him already because of her boyfriend.

Aimee is speed-walking home, followed by Peck. “You’re a monster. What kind of person tries to get someone arrested at their own funeral?”

“I got jumped by three guys!”

“Malcolm and Tagoe didn’t touch you! And now they’re going to jail.”

Peck spits. “They ran their mouths, that’s not on me.”

“You have to leave me alone. I know you never liked Rufus, and he didn’t give you any reason to, but he’s still really important to me. I always wanted him in the picture and now he won’t be. I had even less time with him because of you. If I can’t see him, I don’t want to see you either.”

“You ending it with me?”

Aimee stops. She doesn’t want to turn Peck’s way because she hasn’t considered this question yet. People make mistakes. Rufus made a mistake attacking Peck. Peck shouldn’t have had his friends send the police after Rufus, but he wasn’t wrong to have done so. Well, legally, no. Morally, hell yes.

“You keep putting him before me,” Peck says. “I’m the one you’ve been coming to for all your problems. Not the guy who almost killed me. I’ll let you think on that.”

Aimee stares at Peck. He’s a white teen with low-hanging jeans, baggy sweater, Caesar cut, and dried blood on his face because he’s dating her.

Peck walks away and Aimee lets him.

She doesn’t know where she stands with Peck in this world of gray.

She’s not quite sure where she stands with herself either.

MATEO

4:26 a.m.

I’m failing to break out.

I couldn’t surround myself with more strangers. They were harmless for the most part, the only red flag being how I don’t want to be around people who get so drunk they pass out and eventually black out the nights they’re lucky to be living. But I wasn’t honest with Rufus, because, on a deep level, I do believe partying on the train is my kind of scene. It’s just that the fear of disappointing others or making a fool of myself always wins.

I’m actually surprised Rufus is chaining his bike to a gate and following me into the hospital. We walk up to the front desk, and a red-eyed clerk smiles at me but doesn’t actually ask how he can help me.

“Hi. I’d like to see my father. Mateo Torrez in Intensive Care.” I pull out my ID and slide it across the glass counter to Jared, as the name tag pinned to his sky-blue scrubs reads.

“Visiting hours ended at nine, I’m afraid.”

“I won’t be long, I promise.” I can’t leave without saying goodbye.

“It’s not happening tonight, kid,” Jared says, the smile still there, except a little more unnerving. “Visiting hours resume at nine. Nine to nine. Catchy, right?”

“Okay,” I say.

“He’s dying,” Rufus says.

“Your father is dying?” Jared asks me, the bizarre smile of someone working a four-in-the-morning shift finally gone.

“No.” Rufus grabs my shoulder and squeezes. “He is dying. Do him a solid and let him upstairs to say goodbye to his father.”

Jared doesn’t look as if he particularly appreciates being spoken to this way, and I’m not a fan of it myself, but who knows where I would be without Rufus to speak up for me. I actually know where I’d be: outside this hospital, probably crying and holed up somewhere hoping I make it to nine. Hell, I’d probably still be at home playing video games or trying to talk myself into getting out of the apartment.

“Your father is in a coma,” Jared says, looking up from his computer.

Rufus’s eyes widen, like his mind has been blown. “Whoa. Did you know that?”

“I know that.” Seriously, if it’s not his first week on the job, Jared’s got to be on some forty-hour shift. “I still want to say goodbye.”

Jared gets his act together and stops questioning me. I get his initial resistance, rules are rules, but I’m happy when he doesn’t drag this out any longer by asking me for proof. He takes photos of us, prints out visitor passes, and hands the passes to me. “Sorry about all this. And, you know . . .” His condolences, while hardly there, are way more appreciated than the ones I received from Andrea at Death-Cast.

We walk toward the elevator.

“Did you also wanna punch the smile off his face?” Rufus asks.

“Nope.” It’s the first time Rufus and I have spoken to each other since getting out of the train station. I press the visitor pass across my shirt, making sure it sticks with a couple pats. “But thanks for getting us in here. I would’ve never played the Decker card myself.”

“No problem. We have zero time for could’ve-would’ve-should’ve,” Rufus says.

I push the elevator button. “I’m sorry I didn’t join in on the party car.”

“I don’t need an apology. If you’re fine with your decision, that’s on you.” He walks away from the elevator and toward the staircase. “I’m not cool with us riding the elevator, though, so let’s do this.”

Right. Forgot. It’s probably better to leave the elevators available to the nurses and doctors and patients at this time of night anyway.

I follow Rufus up the stairs, and it’s only the second floor but I’m already out of breath. Really, maybe there’s something physically wrong with me and maybe I’ll die here on these steps before I can reach Dad or Lidia or Future Mateo. Rufus gets impatient and sprints up, sometimes even skipping two steps at a time.

On the fifth floor, Rufus calls down to me. “I hope you’re serious about opening yourself up to new experiences, though. Doesn’t have to be something like the party car.”

“I’ll feel ballsier once I’ve said my goodbyes,” I say.

“Respect,” Rufus says.

I trip up the steps, landing flat on the sixth floor. I take a deep breath as Rufus comes back down to help me up. “That was such a kid fall,” I say.

Rufus shrugs. “Better forward than backward.”

We continue to the eighth floor. The waiting area is straight ahead, with vending machines and a peach-colored couch between folding chairs. “Would you mind waiting out here? I sort of want one-on-one time with him.”

“Respect,” Rufus says again.

I push open the blue double doors and walk through. Intensive Care is quiet except for some light chatter and beeping machines. I watched this thirty-minute documentary on Netflix a couple years ago about how much hospitals have changed since Death-Cast came into the picture. Doctors work closely with Death-Cast, obviously, receiving instant updates about their terminal patients who’ve signed off on this agreement. When the alerts come in, nurses dial back on life support for their patients, prepping them for a “comfortable death” instead with last meals, phone calls to families, funeral arrangements, getting wills in order, priests for prayers and confessions, and whatever else they can reasonably supply.