I couldn’t stop thinking about the photograph. It wasn’t even a particularly unusual picture. I was standing outside the coffee shop, holding a takeaway cup, looking down at my phone. But the date on the back had changed everything. It had been taken months before I applied for Damien’s job. Someone had been watching me before I even knew there was anything to watch. I barely spoke during the drive home. Damien noticed, of course. He always did. His hand rested on my thigh, his thumb moving slowly against my skin. “You’re thinking about it.” I looked at him. “You’re getting annoyingly good at that.” “I’ve always been good at it.” “Not when you couldn’t see me.” His mouth curved slightly. “I could hear you.” “That isn’t the same thing.” “No,” he admitted. “But now I can see enough to know when you’re worried.” He wasn’t fully sighted, not even close. His right eye had improved after Zurich, and there were days when he could see much more than before. He could recogni
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