Adam Silvera’s They Both Die at the End became a Booktok viral sensation during the COVID-19 pandemic, and its prequel The First to Die at the End followed suit in 2022.
Now, with a series adaptation in the works at Netflix with stars like Bridgerton creator Chis Van Dusen, Yellowjackets’ executive producer Drew Comins, and musical artist Bad Bunny attached, fans are clamoring for the next taste of the series.
The wait is almost over. PEOPLE can exclusively share an excerpt from the first chapter of The Survivor Wants to Die at the End, due out from Quill Tree Books on May 6. In this book, — the author’s most personal to date – readers will learn even more about Death-Cast, the service that calls people on the day they’re going to die, and how it looms large in the lives of two boys whose paths cross at the exact right time.
Paz Dario waits up every night for the call from Death-Cast, until he decides he’s done waiting. But before he can take matters into his own hands, a boy saves his life.
Alano Rosa is heir to the Death-Cast empire, but thanks to his father, he doesn’t feel like he can control his own destiny. And with the violent Death Guard threatening Alano, his End Day might be closer than he thinks. As fate brings Paz and Alano together, it’s up to them to survive what lies ahead.
Read on for an exciting first peek at The Survivor Wants to Die at the End.
LO S A N G E L E S
July 22, 2020
PA Z DA R I O
7:44 a.m. (Pacific Daylight Time)
Death-Cast never calls to tell me I’m gonna die. I wish they would.
Every night between midnight and 3 a.m. when the heralds are alerting people about their End Days, I stay up and stare at my phone, willing it to ring with those haunting bells that will signal my early death. Or my late death if we’re being real about how little I’ve wanted to be alive. I dream of the night when I can interrupt my herald’s condolences over how I’m about to die and just say, “Thank you for the best news of my life.”
And then, somehow, I will finally die.
My phone didn’t ring last night, so I’m forced to live through another Not-End Day.
I’m always performing a will to live for all the people working hard to keep me alive: my mom, obviously; my stepdad, who used to be a guidance counselor and still acts like one; my therapist,
who I lie to every Friday afternoon; and my psychiatrist, who prescribes the antidepressants I overdosed on in March. I almost feel guilty wasting everyone’s time since I’m a lost cause. But if I can’t convince everyone that I only tried killing myself because of that documentary about my childhood incident, then I’ll be sent to a suicide treatment facility where I’ll not only have even more people working to keep me alive, I won’t stand any chance at trying to kill myself again.
If this Not-End Day goes as well as I hope, I might be happy to stick around.
For the first time in almost 10 years, I have a callback. And not just any callback but a chemistry test to be the love interest in the movie. And not just any movie but the adaptation of my favorite fantasy novel, Golden Heart. All it took was one killer self-tape and lying about who I am.
Now I gotta go book my dream role.
I’m pacing my bedroom, going over the audition sides, even though I’ve got these lines down. Everything in here is black and white except for the novels, plays, and video games that entertain me on my Not-End Days. Mom got me this big Zebra plant, which, despite the name, doesn’t match my room’s vibe. It was a nice thought to get a natural pop of green in here, but I’ve had a hard enough time nourishing myself, so the plant has browned from neglect; I gotta throw it out because I can’t watch a plant die before me.
Okay, it’s time to get ready. I tuck my audition sides into my hardcover of Golden Heart as a 912-page good-luck charm and then stuff it into the backpack I usually use for hiking. I grab the black T-shirt and jeans requested by casting, and I’m about to hit the shower when I notice my 365-day journal on the floor. I’m quick to throw it back in my nightstand, since I forgot to do so around 3 a.m.; I can’t have anyone looking in there.
I crack open my door, hearing a Spanish song playing from the old radio I moved to the top of the fridge after we got rid of all the alcohol. Mom and Rolando are laughing as they cook breakfast before she goes to work at this local women’s shelter. It’s the little moments like this when Mom isn’t bringing me plants or supervising my antidepressant dosage that give me hope that she will actually be okay if I die. Even if she said otherwise after my suicide attempt — I ’m only talking about the one in March, since no one knows about the second.
Before I put on a show as Happy Paz for Mom and Rolando, I have to get ready, just like any actor who goes through hair and makeup. I’ve only ever been on one movie set, back when I was six, but I remember thinking how cool it was to have artists help me get into character before a director calls, “Action.” Now I do all of this by myself before performing happiness.
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I rush down the hall and into the bathroom that’s still warm and misty from Rolando’s morning shower. I wipe the steamy mirror, trying to see the villain everyone else sees, but I only see a boy who has dyed his dark hair blond to book this job and who is growing out his curls to hide the face everyone knows more from the docuseries about the first End Day instead of his small but once promising role in the last Scorpius Hawthorne film.
The cold water of the shower shocks me awake before I twist the knob so far that the hot water turns my tanned skin red. I force myself to stand there even though my body wants to take control of my legs and back away. The body eventually wins, and I get out.
The sink is cluttered with all of Mom’s and Rolando’s things, like her brush with a forest of black and white hairs, his comb and gel, the cactus soap they picked up from the Melrose Market, and the porcelain plate where she leaves her engagement ring when she’s going through her moisturizing routine. No real sign of my existence except for the toothbrush inside the orange plastic cup with theirs. That’s on purpose. When I’m dead, I want Mom to forget about me for as long as possible. That means not seeing my things around our shared spaces. If Mom’s haunted by my death, she’ll be forced to move again to escape my ghost like we did after Dad’s death, but this tiny house that Mom and Rolando bought together is her favorite part about living in Los Angeles. It represents our fresh start.
What was supposed to be our fresh start, at least.
In addition to a suicide note for Mom, I should leave another for Rolando to set up a Graveyard Sale because I know Mom won’t have the heart to sell my things herself. She’s the breadwinner of the house, but barely; we’re talking stale, week-old bread breadwinner. They can probably make a few thousand by selling my copy of the last Scorpius Hawthorne book that was signed by the author as well as the Polaroids she took of me with the cast.
That trip to Brazil with Mom to film my scene was mind- blowing, I still can’t believe I got to visit the iconic set of the Milagro Castle and—
Nope, no going down memory lane for my time as young Larkin Cano when I have a different role to play now. Not the one for the audition. The role I play every Not-End Day.
Fully dressed and clean, I grab the doorknob and whisper, “Action.”
I become Happy Paz.
The Survivor Wants to Die at the End Copyright © 2025 by Adam Silvera. Quill Tree Books is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers. Used with the permission of HarperCollins Publishers.
The Survivor Wants to Die at the End comes out May 6 and is available for preorder now, wherever books are sold.
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