She pressed it again. Nothing. She was about to leave, resolving to find him at the office the next day, when the front door finally unlocked with a low metallic drone. She went inside. The apartment was built on two levels, with a narrow flight of steps connecting the living room and kitchen with a bedroom and study upstairs. On this level, the house was empty, but in the rectangular space formed by the upper stairwell, she saw a greenish glow. Upstairs, in the study, Ethan was hunched over his laptop, which was the only source of light. Pop music blared from a stereo in the corner: In every city and every nation from Lake Geneva to the Finland Station— As she entered the room, Ethan clicked through a series of web pages. She put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” He looked up. For a second, seeing his haunted face, she felt an instinctive flinch of revulsion. Then, when he smiled, he looked almost like his old self. All the same, though, she could tell that he hadn’t showered that day.
