Lena blinked. The laptop hummed, then fell silent. The power light died.
Her hand, moving without permission, hovered over the touchpad. The cursor drifted toward . printscreen button on laptop
Her gaze snapped back to the screen. The photo had changed. The figure was closer now—right behind her captured self, leaning in as if looking at the screen too. And this time, it had a face. It was her face. Same hair. Same glasses. But the expression was wrong—a grin stretched too wide, eyes empty. Lena blinked
"Okay," she whispered. "That's new."
"Stupid thing," she muttered, and then remembered the key. Her laptop manufacturer, in its infinite wisdom, had decided that Printscreen was a secondary function. So she held down Fn , tapped PrtSc , and waited. Her hand, moving without permission, hovered over the