Oberon gracefully brushed his hair out of his eyes. “I have studied your culture my whole life, and I have been on Earth for eight years. Though I know it is very important, I still do not really understand the concept of privacy. We in the Otherworld have some similar ideas about it—we, too, have specific taboos about what is appropriate in public versus what is appropriate in private.”

He paused. Ángel didn’t reply.

“But I don’t understand why a person would need privacy from the people he lives with. Where I am from, within a house, with people who live together, there are no private spaces. Can you explain this to me?”

The warm, golden timbre had gone out of Oberon’s voice. Coupled with his expressionless face, the flat and cool tone made Ángel wonder if he were angry. Or if he was playing some game with Ángel. His angular face looked distant and cruel.

Ángel put his hands in his jeans pockets, unsure how to put words around something that was so obvious. “Just because I came to live here doesn’t mean I forfeit the right to privacy,” he said. “The camera—and also the microphones—in my bedroom should be deactivated.”

“Why?”

“It’s just wrong. It . . . it upsets me to think that you watch me when I’m alone. When I sleep.”

“Why is that? Everyone sleeps.”

Ángel knotted his brows. “. . . Are you kidding now? You really don’t get this?”

“No,” said Oberon. “I am not kidding. I gave you your own room, because I understand that you need to be alone sometimes for your comfort. For my comfort, I need the cameras. You have access to them too.”

“I don’t want access to the cameras,” said Ángel. “I want to not be under surveillance.”

“To sleep?”

“Yes. To sleep.”

“Is there a taboo surrounding sleep that I don’t understand? To me, there is nothing peculiar or shameful about sleep, that you must hide to do it.”

“Some things are private,” said Ángel. “Not peculiar or shameful. Private.”

They stared at each other. Then Ángel said, “Oberon. Please. Could you—could you just take my word for it? I won’t object to any of the other cameras, in the rest of the house, if there were one place—my room—where I knew I had privacy.”

“No,” said Oberon. “I don’t think so. You will get used to it. What other things are private?”

Ángel felt as though he’d been slapped. He worked his jaw, trying to relax the muscles in his face, then picked up the tray again and went to the office door.

“Ángel?” asked Oberon. “Are you going to go, before we’re finished talking about this?”

“We are finished talking about this.”

“We aren’t.”