Against his better judgment, the download began. The progress bar crawled, a green line reclaiming the darkness. 14%... 42%... 89%. When it hit 100%, the fan on his laptop let out a weary whine.
"You shouldn't have looked," a voice whispered, not from the laptop speakers, but from the empty hallway behind him.
Leo turned, the blue light of the screen casting his shadow long and jagged against the wall. The hallway was empty, but the front door—which had been locked—was standing wide open, letting in a gust of cold, night air and a single, stray flake of snow.
He clicked. The page bloomed with a chaotic mosaic of links and files. Amidst the sea of generic titles, one stood out. It had no thumbnail, just a file name that read like a whisper: The_Archive_Watches_Back.mp4.