Just as the camera panned up to show a digital clock on a nearby bank flashing , Elias's laptop battery died. In the sudden silence of his apartment, he heard the distinct, heavy thud of a car door closing right outside his window. He checked his watch. It was 10:10 PM .

File wasn't supposed to exist. It had been sent from his own email address, timestamped three years into the future. The grainy thumbnail showed nothing but a flickering streetlamp and a pair of scuffed boots he recognized as his own.

The video opened to a shaky, handheld shot of a rainy alleyway. A voice behind the camera, his own voice but older and more desperate, whispered, "If you're watching this, don't go to the intersection at 10:14 PM. It’s not an accident."