It’s from Zane, admonishing me that I haven’t been taking care of myself as I should. As I read, my breath catches, my stomach tightens with a mixture of excitement, anticipation, and something I can’t quite put my finger on.
He goes on to say he doesn’t like the idea of me skipping meals. That he knows how easy it is to forget when work takes over. That if I don’t go to the grocery store tomorrow, he’ll have food delivered for me instead.
It’s not a threat. Not even framed as a demand.
Just…stated.
Then it suddenly hits me… How does he know so much? It’s almost as if he’s living right here with me…
I lower the letter slowly, my thoughts moving faster as the pieces fall in place. If he knows about my empty fridge…If my sink and the cabinet doors are miraculously fixed... doesn’t that mean…?
Zane was in my apartment.
The realization should feel like a slap but instead, it lands quietly.
I press the letter flat on the counter, smoothing it with my palm. My heart is beating harder now, but not from fear. Not exactly. There’s something else threaded through it…something warm yet confusing.
I push away from the counter and begin to walk through the apartment, looking around, imagining him in my space… The thought is exhilarating.
Suddenly, a faint glint of light catches my attention.
I stop.
It’s subtle enough that I might have missed it any other day—just a brief reflection that seems out of place. The result of me getting off work at a normal hour today, something that never happens with Mick Flint as my boss. I step closer, leaning in toward the shelf.
There, tucked between a stack of books and a decorative object I’ve had for years, is something small and dark. Almost invisible unless you know what you’re looking for.
A camera.
I stare at it for a long moment, my mind going strangely quiet.
I am being watched… Inside my home…
By a man I’ve never met. Never spoken to in person.
Questions instantly flood my head.
How long has it been there?
How much of me has he seen?
Are there others?
All those questions and yet…the fear still doesn’t come.
What I feel instead is a slow, spreading warmth. A complicated one. Uncomfortable, maybe. But not terrifying. Zane has never tried to frighten me. Never pushed past what I’ve given him. Everything he’s done…letters, flowers, quiet gestures, has circled the same intent.
To protect. To care.
I don’t move the camera. I don’t cover it. I just stand there, looking at it, more aware now of myself—and of him, somewhere beyond these walls, watching and waiting. On impulse, I lift my chin and look straight at the shelf. Into the lens.
My heart thumps once, hard, before I speak. “Are you…watching right now?”
My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
I wait.
For a second, nothing happens. I almost convince myself I imagined the whole thing, until the sound of his voice suddenly echoes through the quiet room.
