“Please don’t stop me from doing this,” I say. “I’m on to something. I know I am. I just need time.”

Dad sits in his chair, and I hope his fight has faded away. We limit our anger to short bursts or risk crying all evening. But he doesn’t give in. He reaches for my hand, drawing circles in my palm like he did when I was a kid, and says, “Someone threatened my daughter today. What do you expect me to do? I lost her, Jess. I won’t lose you as well.”

“You’re not going to,” I say, my heart breaking for him like it has a thousand times since Mom died.

We sit in silence until Dad says, “I gave it a chance.”

“We’re nearly halfway through the four weeks. Can I at least have that? Please, Dad! I’ll be careful.”

He may do it in his own way, but he protects me, and that will never change.

Suddenly, he stares over my shoulder, at Michael filming everything and Danny standing by his side. Then he looks around our living room, a room that has barely changed in ten years except for the growing collection of Mom’s photos that fill every surface.

“I don’t want this for you,” Dad says. Then, so quietly only I can hear, “Two more weeks. But if the police come back here, it’s over.”

Chapter 35

“Are you okay?” Danny asks.

He’s not supposed to speak on camera unless it’s absolutely necessary. I guess this is one of those times. I can see the worry in his face.

I nod, and he says, “You’re right—it’s someone fooling around.”

There’s more than one way to go viral, and if my heartfelt introduction didn’t do it, if my story still feels like old news, maybe the threat of something worse will actually help.

When his camera is turned off, just before they leave, Michael says, “I got some great footage of you and your dad.”

That’s the difference between him and Danny: Michael still treats me like a prop.

“Don’t let them win,” Danny whispers. “Whoever they are, they want a reaction.”

“Just like you,” I say. I meant it as a joke, but he doesn’t laugh.

“We’ll see you next week, Jess. And if you get any more messages, call the police.”

“I will.”

When they’ve gone, I go straight upstairs to my room and stare at the camera on the wall.

At midnight, I put a sock over it, just in case, then lie in bed, thinking about who might have sent the texts.

It probably is some idiot at school trying to be funny. After all, the real Magpie Man didn’t text his victims first.

But people change. What if he really is watching?

Chapter 36

The messages keep coming.

I see you

You look so helpless when you sleep