Elias froze. The "glass house"—his monitor? He moved to close the program, but his mouse wouldn't budge. The whistling wind from his speakers grew louder, layering over itself until it sounded like a choir of whispering voices.
He checked the text file. It contained only a set of coordinates: 41.1345° N, 104.8203° W.
Suddenly, his room felt impossibly dry. The scent of kicked-up dust and old leather filled the air. Elias looked down at his keyboard; a thin layer of fine, alkaline sand was settling over the keys.