Tim doesn't look at him, but his mouth tightens. He can't say he blames Jay for that. He'd tossed the battered camera the first chance he got, abandoned the YouTube channel and its anxious viewers, guiltily burned out any trace the man had once existed. He doubts he'll ever look at cameras the same way again. Too much pain rooted there. Too much paranoia.

"Well," says Tim, shrugging, "you've certainly got no shortage of cameras. And we know, now." He pauses, waiting for the itch in his nostrils, but it never comes. "We know that - thing, it, it never followed us here."

Not yet, anyway. But he's not thinking about that.