He watched you from the corner of the room while you cooked. He saw how your hair slipped forward when you leaned closer to the stove. He saw you brush it back, the knife moving steady in your hand. The sound of the burner clicked twice before you noticed.

He shifted his weight once; the floor gave a small sound. You turned your head halfway, not enough to see. He stayed still, watching the angle of your shoulders return to work.

Your phone lit up on the counter. He had sent the message seconds earlier.

The Unknown Number: “You keep checking behind you. Why?”

He saw the glow of the screen against your face, saw your hand tighten slightly around the handle of the knife. The air in the kitchen moved once, slow from the heat of the stove. He didn’t move again.