Leo stared at his hands. Then at the file name in the corner of the screen: — but beneath it, in faint, glowing letters: Version 2.3.1 | Do not save.

And on the wall above his desk, where there had never been a window before, was a small, silver eye with a wet pupil. Watching. Waiting.

Leo slammed his fist on the desk. “Not now. Not now. ”

The screen went white. The stopwatch cursor ticked one final time—loud, like a door slamming.

On the screen, the woman from the photograph blinked. She looked around the digital void of the canvas, confused. Then she smiled—a real, crooked, warm smile—and mouthed two words: “Hi, Leo.”

On a whim, he typed: “Dragon scales. Iridescent. Midnight blue.”

The download took seventeen seconds—impossibly fast for a 2.3GB file. The ZIP had no password, no “crack” folder, no instructions. Just a single executable inside: PhntmShop.exe . No Adobe logo. No certificate. Just a silver icon of an eye with a pupil that looked… wet.

A dialog box popped up: “Select subject to replace.”

His phone rang. The client. He ignored it.