The notification appeared at 3:14 AM:
Elias felt a chill. That was his kitchen. That was the same dent in the toaster from when he’d dropped it moving in. He looked down at his own hands, then back at the screen. The man on the screen mirrored his movements exactly.
The video player opened to a static-heavy shot of a suburban kitchen. It was filmed from a high angle—the top of a refrigerator, maybe. The timestamp in the corner was buzzing with digital artifacts, flickering between the current date and one exactly ten years in the future.
Elias froze. Slowly, his gaze drifted toward the corner of his kitchen where the humming fridge stood. Taped to the side of the appliance, just out of his normal line of sight, was a small, black lens he had never noticed before.
The video file on his screen suddenly glitched, the audio erupting into a deafening screech of dial-up tones. A new notification popped up, overlaying the player: