Deep within the folders, past the textures and the scripts, was a single image file titled: .

On the screen, the shadow touched the digital Elias’s shoulder.

It was a photo of Elias, taken from the perspective of his own webcam, his face frozen in a silent, waxy scream.

He ripped the headset off. The room was silent, save for the hum of his PC fan.

The screen flickered. The woman on the table wasn’t there anymore. The room was empty, the lights strobing. Then, a wet, dragging sound echoed through his actual headphones—not from the left or right channel, but from behind him.