The results were a mess of dead links and "404 Not Found" warnings. But on the third page, nestled between a defunct Greek forum and a suspicious file-sharing site, a single link pulsed. The domain was a string of numbers. Leo clicked.

The screen didn't show a movie. Instead, a grainy, high-contrast shot of a crimson-lit room filled the frame. There was no sound, just a rhythmic visual static that looked like falling snow dyed blood-red. A person sat in the center of the frame, their face obscured by a vintage porcelain mask.

Suddenly, the audio kicked in—not from his speakers, but seemingly from the hallway behind him. It was the sound of a porcelain mask hitting the floor.