The screen went black. The fan whirred down. Silence.

He went back inside. His modern laptop was open on the kitchen table. The screen was black except for a single, blinking cursor in the top-left corner.

He went to Time . The folder was empty except for a single text document: Yesterday.log . He opened it. It was a log of everything he’d done yesterday. Every keystroke. Every whispered curse at the coffee maker. Every incognito search.

Inside: one file. Leo_Winslow.exe . His full name. He hadn’t told the estate sale his full name. He’d paid cash.

Setup is restarting.