I’m scared of the answer, because if it’s bigger than hunting a serial killer, I’m screwed. Her highlights don’t really deserve that word. But her subscribers increase anyway.

“I’m sorry to all the families of the people my brother killed,” Ryan says. “I know it doesn’t mean much, but I truly am.”

I watch a woman whose husband was shot hug Ryan in his living room. They sob in each other’s arms, and I feel guilty for competing with him. In the background, his mother sits with her head in her hands.

Then Ella’s father tells everyone that his daughter is pregnant despite never having had sex. He has a white strip under a black collar. No wonder he’s pushing this as an immaculate conception.

Ella stands beside him, her eyes down and a bright red shame spot creeping up her neck. Her viewers are a mixture of those who believe her and those calling her a slut.

Lucas hasn’t done anything you’d expect him to do, like sleep with a bunch of girls or say something controversial. I thought he would be my biggest challenge, but it’s like he has given up.

When I call Danny, he says, “A one-hundred-and-fifty-nine-thousand increase from week one. You didn’t think that was worth replying to?”

I smile to myself: there’s no way they’ll stop me going to Mayfield Lodge if my ratings keep going up.

“How does that compare with the others?”

Danny laughs. “You know I can’t tell you that, Jess. But you’re doing well.”

I swallow my nerves and say, “Well enough?”

He laughs again, and for a moment, I think he’s actually going to tell me, but instead, he says, “How’s things…with the texts?”

“It’s okay.”

“What about the police?” he asks, and I shake my head even though he can’t see me.

“They’re as useful as they’ve ever been.”

I hear him take a deep breath. “I know I’m your director, and I know I should be impartial. But just be careful. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

I close my eyes and smile, because his words sound comforting and electric at the same time.

And then I glance at Mom’s photo, and as quick as that, the feeling is gone. To change the subject, I tell him about Mayfield Lodge.

“I can go but only if you don’t.”

He laughs. “I’ll have to speak to Adrian. But I don’t see a problem, provided you promise to use the cameras all day.”

“I will.”

“You should start getting used to them,” he says. “I can give you another quick tutorial if you like.”

Sometimes his words sound like flirting, but I can’t be certain.

“Sure,” I say, “I’d like that,” because sometimes my words sound like flirting, too, at least to me.