“Yes.”
A single word, but with enough intensity to make my knees wobble.
His voice is deep. Rough around the edges, like it’s been worn down by things I can’t see. It slides under my skin before I can stop it, settling somewhere uncomfortably intimate. I let go a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“You can hear me,” I say—not quite a question but with an uncertain tilt, still unsure if I’m hallucinating.
“I can,” he replies.
That sends a ripple through me, part awareness, part heat. I steady myself against the back of the couch.
“How many…?” I ask, needing something concrete to hold on to. “How many cameras are there?”
There’s a pause this time. Not long but deliberate.
“Three,” he says finally. “The living room. The kitchen. And…the bedroom.”
My cheeks warm instantly.
“The bedroom?” I repeat, my voice cracking a little at the end.
“In the ceiling fan,” he adds. “Above your bed.”
I swallow. My pulse jumps, my thoughts scattering. Before I can spiral too far, he speaks again.
“The video is off,” he says. “In there, it’s audio only.”
Relief loosens something tight in my chest. Not completely, but enough that I can breathe again.
“Are you angry?” he asks quietly.
The question catches me off guard. I consider it honestly, standing there in the middle of my living room, staring at proof that my life isn’t quite private anymore.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’m…processing.”
“Do you think I’d hurt you?”
I don’t hesitate. “No.”
The certainty of it surprises me, but it’s true. I’ve never felt threatened by him. Not once.
“I wouldn’t,” he says. “I just want to take care of you.”
The words settle over me, heavy and strange. Comforting and unsettling, all at once.
“I need time,” I say after a moment. “To think about all of this. I need you to turn off the camera feeds.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“Okay,” he says. He sounds disappointed, and something like guilt twists in my chest. How ridiculous to feel guilty for demanding a stranger not watch me in my own home. But I can’t deny the feeling is there.
“I… You can leave the microphones on,” I add, surprising myself as much as him. “For now.”
I retrieve a tea towel from the counter and drape it over the camera on the bookshelf, just to be sure. The one in the kitchen doesn’t bother me as much. I leave it alone.
After that, I have a quick dinner—cereal straight from the box. I don’t even bother to sit, just gulp as much as I can stomach while standing at the counter. I’m acutely aware of his presence even though he’s not physically here… I can almost feel the intensity of his eyes.
I wonder what color they are…
