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As the blue progress bar crawled toward the finish line, the air in his small apartment felt strangely heavy. When the file finally landed on his desktop, the thumbnail was just a black square. He double-clicked.

With trembling fingers, he reached out. He didn't have a key, but he remembered the video. He tapped the lid three times. The lock clicked.

Elias leaned in, his breath hitching. In the reflection of the mirror, he saw the person holding the camera. It was himself—but not the Elias of today. It was the Elias of ten years ago, wearing a sweater he had lost in a move a decade prior.

The video began with no sound. It was a shaky, handheld shot of a dimly lit attic he didn't recognize. The camera panned slowly across stacks of dusty trunks and old mannequins draped in white sheets. Then, it stopped at a mirror.