3:14

Theo was not an anxious man. Not in the usual sense. He worked quietly,

slept predictably, and kept his apartment in order the way some people tend a garden.

But lately—just lately—he had begun to feel that someone was watching him. It was not constant,

nor dramatic. It came in small doses, like a breeze that slips through a

closed window. Sometimes he would be reading, then stop mid-sentence, certain that someone

was behind him. Sometimes, while brushing his teeth, he would glance

into the mirror and feel the weight of unseen eyes from somewhere beyond the reflection.

Every time, he turned around. Every time, there was nothing. He blamed it on