Vid_20140527_000856.3gp

The hard drive was covered in a thick layer of dust, tucked inside a shoebox labeled "2014." When Elias finally got the old interface to boot up, the screen flickered with a sea of cryptic filenames. His eyes stopped on one: .

In the video, a hand—his hand—reached out toward the shimmer. Just as his fingertips touched the distortion, the video froze. The timestamp at the bottom read . VID_20140527_000856.3gp

The camera swung wildly before settling on a sight Elias had spent a decade convincing himself he’d imagined. In the center of the frame, a small, shimmering rift hung in the air just inches above the ground. It looked like spilled oil floating on water, warping the light of the late May afternoon. The hard drive was covered in a thick

Elias frowned. The filename said the video was recorded just after midnight, but the footage was clearly midday. He looked closer at the pixels. In the reflection of the rift, he didn't see the pasture. He saw the very room he was sitting in now, ten years later, staring back at himself. The file wasn't a recording of the past. It was a bridge. Just as his fingertips touched the distortion, the