The file was buried three folders deep in a directory labeled simply TEMP . Unlike the thousands of other family photos and blurry vacation videos on the drive, had no thumbnail. No metadata. No date modified.

As he watched, a figure appeared at the far end of the hall. It didn't walk; it glided, its form shifting like smoke behind a glass pane. It stopped directly in front of the lens. The humming peaked, shattering a glass of water on Elias’s desk.

The video cut to static. The file disappeared from the folder.

The figure reached out, its hand pressing against the "inside" of the screen. On Elias’s monitor, five small indentations appeared in the plastic, as if the heat from the video was melting the hardware.