He sat down at 8:47 AM, coffee in hand. Win+Ctrl+Right. Nothing. The screen flickered, but Screen 2 was a ghost. Empty. No novel. No Berlin flights. Just a grey void with a single, blinking cursor.

The screen didn't switch. Instead, a message appeared in plain white text on the black void: Leo stared. His reflection stared back, pale and small in the monitor's bezel.

But the cursor just blinked. Patient. Merciless.

Ctrl+C, Ctrl+V for his reports. Alt+Tab to flick between his browser and Slack. Win+D to clear his desktop when his boss walked by. His fingers lived on the keyboard, dancing between keys like a pianist who’d forgotten what sheet music looked like.

For the first time in two years, he didn't switch screens. He walked into the kitchen, where Priya was pouring cereal, and said, "I'm here."