He didn't delete the file. He renamed it Proof.m4a and moved it to his desktop, a small digital anchor for the next time the world felt like it was slipping away.
As the 12-minute file reached its end, the background noise changed. He heard the distant siren of a city he no longer lived in. touching myself (audio only).m4a
The audio wasn’t what the title suggested. It wasn't a confession or an act of vanity. It was a sensory inventory. In the recording, Elias listened to his past self describe the physical world as if he were a ghost trying to anchor himself to it. He didn't delete the file
"I'm okay," the voice on the recording said, softer now. "I'm here. I'm solid." softer now. "I'm here. I'm solid."