I stared at the center of the carousel, searching for the lens.

In the dark, a tiny, dull reflection glinted from a deep recess behind the jar of sea salt.

A phone suddenly lit up on the kitchen island behind me.

It was Julian’s personal phone, left charging on the counter.

The screen flashed with a new notification.

A message from the smart-home app read: *Unusual activity detected in Zone 4.*

The phone screen glowed against the dark granite of the kitchen island.

I stared at the words: *Unusual activity detected in Zone 4.*

Zone 4 was the pantry.

Julian’s phone lay just inches from my hand, its battery icon pulsing green as it charged.

If his backup phone had received the alert, his primary phone had too.

He was at his office downtown, but he was always watching.

My gaze drifted back to the oak spice rack on the counter.

The tiny, dull reflection behind the sea salt jar seemed to stare back at me like a cold, glass eye.

I stepped closer to the rack, my slippers making no sound on the hardwood floor.