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The file sat in a folder labeled simply 000 , tucked inside three layers of subdirectories on a thumb drive found in a thrift store coat pocket.

Then, behind him in the real world, he heard the distinct, heavy creak of his closet door swinging open. 23bbf670-30ea-4f29-9be0-e58946e49f1e.jpg

When Elias double-clicked it, the image didn't load normally. Instead of a photo, the screen flickered through a series of rapid-fire colors—static grey, deep violet, and a sickly, neon green. Then, it settled. The file sat in a folder labeled simply

Cold sweat prickled his neck. In the image, a hand was reaching out from behind the door toward the "Elias" in the photo. Instead of a photo, the screen flickered through

He moved to close the window, but the cursor wouldn't budge. The "hand" in the photo moved an inch closer to his digital self.

The image was of a door. It was a standard, white-painted wooden door, but it was standing completely alone in the middle of a dense, foggy forest. There was no frame, no wall—just the door, slightly ajar.

Elias zoomed in. In the sliver of darkness where the door cracked open, there was a reflection. Not a reflection of the forest, but a reflection of his own room . He could see the back of his own head, the glow of his monitor, and the exact position of his desk lamp.