On April 25, 2014, Addie and Henry sit on a blanket at the edge of Prospect Park during a pop-up charity concert where people pay to perform and audience members judge with numbered cards. As applause rolls across the grass, Henry marvels that Addie can remember everything across centuries, and Addie describes her life as layers of déjà vu, admitting she has gone mad before and outlasted it.

They react to a string of uneven acts, including a particularly bad teenage singer. Henry judges generously out of sympathy and repeatedly holds up high scores, while Addie scores more harshly based on talent. Their banter turns playful when Henry realizes they have been rating by different standards, and Addie jokes that claiming to be a talent scout was easier than explaining what she really is.

During a lull between performers, they lie back in the grass with Addie resting against Henry. Nearby is a new emerald-green notebook—distinct from a full blue one—and Henry’s pen marks his place, showing how urgently he’s been writing.

Addie reflects that she has been telling Henry the truth of her past in fragments throughout their days, and Henry records it whenever there is a quiet moment. The intimacy steadies her, but as evening deepens she still feels exposed beneath the open sky; luck, she thinks, always runs out. While the next band begins to play, Addie cannot stop watching the dark, afraid of what might be waiting there.