The video didn't end. It looped back to the beginning. Nia walked back into the room, laughing at the person behind the camera. She sat down. She picked up the brush.
When he clicked play, the video didn't show a person. It was a fixed shot of a sun-drenched bedroom, the kind with high ceilings and dust motes dancing in the light. In the center of the frame sat a vintage vanity. There was no sound, just the visual hum of a low-resolution recording.
Elias watched, his heart hammering against his ribs, as the letters formed in reverse: HELP HER.