He tapped the screen, his thumb sliding quickly over the glass as he checked his notifications.

I kept my back to him, staring at the minced garlic on the board.

My heart was beating in my throat.

He unlocked the phone, his face illuminated by the blue light of the screen.

He didn’t say anything for several seconds.

The only sound in the kitchen was the hum of the refrigerator and the quiet ticking of the wall clock.

Then, he stopped scrolling.

“Clara,” he said.

His voice had lost its warm, casual tone.

“Why is your personal email logged in on my tablet upstairs?”

He held up his phone, showing me a real-time log of the home network devices.

“And why did it just receive a notification from an unknown IP address?”

“Why is your personal email logged in on my tablet upstairs?”

Julian’s voice was very quiet.

It was the quietness he used when he wanted to show he was in complete control.

He held the phone toward me.

The blue light reflected in his gray eyes, turning them the color of winter ice.