Curiosity overrode caution. When Elias hit play, he didn't see a software interface. He saw his own living room, filmed from the perspective of his bookshelf. In the video, a version of Elias from exactly ten minutes ago was sitting at his desk, staring at the very email he had just opened.
Elias reached for his mouse to close the window, but the cursor wouldn't move. A new text box appeared over the video:
The apartment went silent. The laptop sat on the desk, humming quietly. The "Crack" wasn't in the software; it was the sound of reality breaking just long enough to let someone—or something—in.
