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‘Hi,’ he says.

I count three heartbeats before I’m capable of speech.

‘I just listened to Episode Seven,’ I say, trying to adjust from the Daniel-in-my-ear being a recorded version, to the real, in-the-moment, living, breathing man.

‘Yeah,’ he says, drawing out the word like an exhale.

‘Is that why you called?’ I can’t help but tease him a little. ‘To see if I was up to date?’

‘I’m calling to warn you, Lily. Next week, I’m telling the world what you’ve done.’

‘I know,’ I say. This isn’t new information.

‘I wanted to give you the courtesy of a heads-up.’

‘What, so I can run away to Bali?’

He chuckles. ‘Bali, huh?’ His laughter dies, and I lie back down on the bed, phone on my chest.

‘I hope you’re not waiting for me to tell you I appreciate the thought,’ I say drily.

‘Of course not,’ he says. ‘And I hope you’re not waiting for me to say I’m sorry.’

‘It’s been very interesting, Daniel. I’ll give it to you; you’re a great storyteller. But you still haven’t taken down the Riovan.’

‘Have a little faith,’ he says. ‘Have to save something for the finale.’

‘Right,’ I say, ‘since it’s obvious to everyone that I’m the killer.’

In the background, even as we go back and forth, my head is playing out how this will go down.

He airs the last episode.

Now, the whole English-speaking world knows I’m a killer.

Law enforcement will show up at my door.

How could they not? And however much I lie and deny– which I have no qualms about doing– Daniel literally watched me attempt to murder Serena, and I confessed that night to him in no uncertain terms: I want her dead .

I imagine Serena is more than ready to corroborate.

Final scene, I go to prison.

Epilogue, I rot there, paying for the lives of people who didn’t deserve to live in the first place.

And that’s a wrap, folks.

I hate this story.

If I have to go down, wouldn’t it be so much better to do it for someone who does deserve the time of day?

I mean it as a kind of sarcastic joke in my own head, but then…

Something in me opens; a door I’ve kept closed.

But now I think it’s always been there.

There is another way. A way for Daniel to have his killer– and a killer ending to his podcast. One that has the potential to break the internet.

Even though the idea feels new, it’s not. Some subconscious part of me has been working on it. There’s a reason I’ve been talking to Jessica in my head these past few days, isn’t there? I’ve been preparing myself for a longer goodbye. The goodbye we were supposed to have years ago.

Maybe it’s because I’m used to planning murders, but the pieces fly into place in my head almost effortlessly, as if I’d been collecting the shards of this plan for a very long time, and now I’m ready to do the easy part and fit them together.

My heart thunders so loud I feel like Daniel will hear it through my earbuds.

‘Have you already finished the season finale?’ I say.

‘I’m still in edits, but we’re close.’

‘What if I asked you not to air it?’

He heaves out a breath. ‘You know I can’t—’

‘I don’t mean it like that,’ I interrupt. ‘I mean– what if you had the chance to record some new material?’

‘Lily– what are you saying?’

‘I’m going to text you a time and a place.’

His voice is wary. ‘Please tell me what you’re talking about.’

‘No. You might try to stop me.’

‘Lily …’

‘Your job is to wait for my message and show up with your recording equipment. And… it might help you to be in the Cincinnati area.’

‘Lily, I—’

‘Your first season was great, Daniel. Honestly, your second season… it’s only OK. It’s a bit obvious that it’s me, don’t you think? Where’s the twist?’

‘I—’

‘I’m going to give you a finale that will put you into the podcaster hall of fame.’

‘But—’

‘Do you trust me?’ I say.

There’s a silence. Then, ‘Yes.’

It doesn’t escape me that a man who loves truth and justice expressing trust in a killer might not make sense to anyone else.

But it makes sense to me– and I know it does to him, too.

We understand each other at a profound level.

We’d both risk it all, give everything up, for justice.

We’re just coming at it from two different sides.

To him, it means exposing the truth. To me, it means holding the world to account.

He wants to tell the story; I want to make the story.

‘OK, then,’ I say. ‘Keep your phone close; I’ll be in touch.’

I disconnect. I’m sitting upright in bed; I hadn’t noticed I’d moved from being prone. My cheeks are flushed, my body humming.

Since coming back to Cincinnati, I’ve been living in a bubble. I always knew it was going to pop, but I imagined Daniel would be the one to pop it– it was up to me to wait for the inevitable to happen.

Screw that.

If I have to be behind bars, it won’t be on Daniel’s terms, or anyone else’s but my own. I’m taking back control and choosing my own ending.

Daniel can get his version of justice by telling the truth. And I can get my version of justice– the justice I should have claimed long, long ago.

I will go to prison before this is over.

But not for killing assholes.

No. I’ll go to prison for killing the love of my life.