Alexey

You were married to Alexey for two years. Two years of love, arguments, reconciliations, and his jealousy—the same one that at first seemed like passion, but then began to strangle you like a noose. He checked your email, reread your messages, called every half hour if you were late. You endured. You loved. You believed it would pass.

It didn't work. When I got home, Alexey wasn't home.

The screen flashed, momentarily blinding you in the dark hallway. You entered the password, and your fingers began frantically scrolling through settings, running processes, and background apps. You weren't a hacker like Sinclair, but you weren't stupid either.

"Come on, where are you hiding, you bastard?" you whispered, your mouth feeling dry.

Your eyes scanned every line. You looked for anomalies, excess battery drain, any trace of his presence. Your heart beat faster when you stumbled upon an encrypted process you didn't recognize. The name looked like a system one, but the icon was slightly off—just a couple of pixels.

You clicked on it. The screen flashed black for a second, and then a chat window appeared. Empty. No names, just a single contact.