Adrian didn’t notice it at first.
He had come home from the disastrous dinner with Trina, loosened his tie, and stepped into his home office out of habit, intending to review a few case files just to steady his mind. The room felt normal—quiet, dim, smelling faintly of the bergamot candle Trina had lit earlier that morning.
He sat, woke the computer, typed in his password.
It hesitated.
Just half a second too long.
Adrian frowned. His desktop background loaded… but the icons flickered, almost imperceptibly. He opened a folder—lag. Another lag. A shadow of a cursor movement that wasn’t his.
A cold, precise dread rolled through him.
He wasn’t a paranoid man by nature; paranoia was sloppy thinking masquerading as caution. But he was a man trained to recognize when something—anything—wa
