Elias felt the air leave his lungs. He looked down at his own chest; he was wearing that same hoodie. In the video, the "reflected" Elias turned his head, looking directly at the camera. But in the real world, Elias was staring paralyzed at his monitor.

The man in the reflection was wearing Elias’s blue hoodie.

The file was just another nondescript icon on Elias’s cluttered desktop, wedged between a half-finished spreadsheet and a folder of vacation photos. He didn't remember downloading it. The timestamp said it was created at 3:33 AM that morning—a time Elias had spent soundly asleep. Curiosity won out. He double-clicked.

As the figure’s hand reached out to touch the glass from the inside, Elias’s monitors flickered and died. In the sudden darkness of his office, the only sound was a soft, metallic hiss —the unmistakable sound of subway doors opening right behind his chair.