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7:59 p.m.

My dog runs into my arms as my parents stand outside Paz’s house uninvited.

“I’m not going back to New York,” I say.

They were already struggling with my decision to stay in Los Angeles before Andrea Donahue’s speech, and they’ll want me back

more than ever to help resolve this. I honestly wish I could help out, but there’s more time between now and Election Day

to save Death-Cast than there is between now and Friday to save Paz. I have to stand my ground.

“Hello to you too, mi hijo,” my father says.

My mother pulls me into a hug. “We’re not here to fight you on New York. We only came to bring Bucky and say bye before our

red-eye.”

That’s the reason? It’s almost as surprising as their visit.

I notice Paz has rejoined his parents in the kitchen. They’re all watching us intently. It’s been intrusive enough to have

Agent Dane going through their belongings, but they didn’t sign up for my parents and their security detail. “I’ll be back

in a minute,” I tell the family, closing the door behind me as I step out onto the front yard with Bucky running around my

legs for more attention.

“I’ve been trying to reach you both all day,” I tell my parents as Shield-Cast gives us space.

“It is a rather distressing feeling, is it not?” Pa says, cocking an eyebrow. “We did not mean to leave you in the dark, mi

hijo, but we were addressing the endless concerns of our board members and the frantic users who do not know if our heralds

are to be trusted to deliver their alerts. We haven’t seen this volume of fear since the first End Day,” he says, looking

at the house, well aware the family inside was victim to those errors. “Time will tell if the statements we’ve issued the

media will halt the damage Andrea Donahue and Carson Dunst are causing.”

“You should’ve gotten back to me sooner. I could’ve helped with the media.”

Pa crosses his arms. “How was I to know this when your devotion to Death-Cast has been victim to many changes of heart as

of late?”

I mock his arm-crossing. “By answering the phone.”

Ma intervenes with time-out hands. “How were you wanting to help, ?”

“I’ll tell the world that I haven’t renounced my claim and I’ll condemn Dunst for his lies.”

Pa smiles for the first time this evening. “That’s a welcomed surprise.”

Ma isn’t as happy. “Are we really going to pit our son against that cult leader?”

“Even children get their hands dirty in wartime,” he says.

How quickly I change in my father’s eyes from undevoted to Death-Cast into a soldier in his war against the Death Guard.

“And we fail as adults every time a child must fight for us,” she says, haunted. “Speaking of, how is Paz doing today?”

“Why don’t we ask him ourselves?”

Paz is standing on the porch. I don’t know how long he’s been there, but he looks like he has stage fright. “Hi. Um, my mom

said you’re welcome to stay for dinner if you want.”

“We don’t want to impose, sweetheart,” Ma says. “But it’s nice to finally meet—”

“Dinner sounds great!” Pa shouts. “We will be right in.”

“Oh—okay.” Paz returns inside.

I eye my father suspiciously. “Are you really joining us?”

“Family dinner is inevitable, is it not?” he asks, still clearly hurt that I’ve chosen Paz’s family over my own.

“Ma?” I’m hoping she sees reason.

“Honestly, I would sleep easier at night knowing his parents better,” Ma says.

“Especially since you are still without Death-Cast,” Pa adds.

“It’ll be lovely getting to know Paz too,” she adds, almost pleading.

“Fine. Please be normal.”

“Of course we will be normal,” my father says before communicating to our bodyguards that we’ll need Agent Andrade stationed

outside the house, Agent Dane manning the back, and Agent Chen surveilling the block.

As I walk my parents to the door I share a critical reminder. “Do not mention anything about my meeting Paz on the Hollywood Sign. His parents don’t know he was planning on killing himself that night. They would send him to a suicide-prevention facility if they did.”

“Maybe that’s better than you taking this on,” Ma says. “You’re not a psychiatrist, and you’ve done so much already while

possibly going through your own psychotic—”

“If it ever got that bad, I would call the professionals myself,” I interrupt, not wanting this turned on me. “Please respect

Paz’s wishes in the meantime.”

She nods, knocking on the door as she steps inside.

My father grabs my shoulder and leans in. “Do not worry, mi hijo, his secret is safe with me,” he whispers before entering

Paz’s house.

Meanwhile I’m frozen outside, still breathing in the alcohol on my father’s breath.