He hovered his cursor over it. The metadata was blank—no date, no size, no source. Curiosity, sharp and cold, nudged him to double-click.
A new notification flashed in the corner of his screen: Upload 99% complete.
Elias finally turned around, but there was no one there. There was only the sound of his own breathing, perfectly synced with the rhythmic hiss of static now leaking from his speakers, even though the file had stopped playing.
The blood drained from his face. The voice was his own, but the tone was wrong—hollow, as if spoken by someone who hadn't breathed in years.