Raymond’s face, which had learned to smile again in secret, went dark and still.

“Genetic testing,” he murmured.

“Why?” I asked.

“Why would he want that?” Raymond was quiet a moment, thinking.

“He wants a weapon,” he said finally.

“He wants to find something he can accuse you of.

Or to prove that you came into this house with some scheme already in mind, that you are not the innocent caregiver you appear to be, so that when the time comes, he can have you removed and discredited in a single stroke.” His eyes drifted then, thoughtfully, to Theodore, sleeping peacefully on a folded blanket at the foot of the bed, and something crossed his face that I did not yet understand.

What frightened me most about the swabs was not even the invasion of my room, unsettling as that was.