The screen of his phone cast a harsh, blue glare over his sharp cheekbones.

“My name?” I asked.

“Your name,” he said. “And every alias we could find associated with your social security number.”

He scrolled down, his thumb moving with a mechanical, jerky rhythm.

“He queried school enrollment records in Massachusetts,” Alexander said. “Then Maine.”

My breath hitched in my throat.

“He knew where we were,” I said.

“Yes,” Alexander said.

“The entire seven years?” I asked.

“Every single year,” he said.

The damp air of the garage felt suddenly freezing, creeping through the thin fabric of my sweater.

I thought of the quiet nights in our small apartment in Maine, listening to the wind howl off the ocean.

I had thought we were safe there, wrapped in anonymity and silence.

All the while, a digital eye had been fixed on our front door.

“How did he get the data?” I asked.

“He used the proprietary tracking algorithms I developed for our logistics division,” Alexander said.

He tapped a line of code on the screen, highlighting a recurring script.