Robert opened the apartment door and stopped.

The smell hit him first. Food. Actual cooking. Not takeout containers or restaurant leftovers. Real food being prepared in their kitchen.

He walked further in. Confused. Suspicious.

The dining table was set. Plates. Silverware. Cloth napkins. Candles even. Like something out of a magazine. Like a family meal. Like something that had never happened in this apartment.

Mrs. Chen stood in the kitchen doorway. Looking ...