It was the specific, three-tone melody that played when the security system disarmed.

The heavy deadbolt turned with a loud, mechanical screech.

The front door began to swing inward.

The front door swung inward, and Julian stepped into the entryway.

He shook his black umbrella, sending a shower of cold droplets onto the hardwood floor.

He was smiling, but his eyes remained flat and analytical.

The call on my screen cut off, and the display on my phone went dark as he slipped his device into his pocket.

“You didn’t answer,” he said, his voice calm.

“My hands were wet,” I said, backing toward the marble island.

He locked the door behind him with a brief tap on his phone screen.

The heavy electronic deadbolt slid back into place with a definitive, mechanical screech.

“The storm is getting worse,” he said, taking off his wet trench coat.

He hung it on the brass peg in the hall.

I gripped the edge of the counter, my fingers digging into the cold stone.

My laptop sat closed on the far end of the island, partially hidden by a stack of cutting boards.