Then, his phone buzzed. A new notification appeared on his lock screen: File Received: IMG_20221116_102949_001.jpg The perspective had changed. The door was now open.

The figure was tall, impossibly thin, and wearing a coat Leo recognized instantly. It was his own heavy wool overcoat—the one he’d lost during the blackout and never found. But it wasn't the coat that froze his breath; it was the timestamp burned into the bottom corner of the image in glowing red digital ink:

His mouse hovered over the icon. He knew he should delete it. His antivirus was silent, but his gut was screaming. Click-click.

The image bloomed across his dual monitors. It wasn’t a glitch or a corrupted file. It was a high-resolution photo taken from a low angle, looking up at his own front door. The porch light was on, casting a sickly yellow glow over the welcome mat. In the reflection of the glass pane, he could see the silhouette of the person holding the camera.