"Is it recording?" a voice whispered. It was Sarah. Her voice sounded lighter back then, before the years of night shifts and city living. "I think so," Elias’s own voice replied from the past.
The camera was sitting on the dashboard of a car. Through the windshield, the sun was sinking into the Pacific, turning the horizon into a bruised purple and gold. In the reflection of the glass, Elias could see two silhouettes. They were young—younger than they had any right to be. IMG_5269.MOV
The file was buried deep in a folder labeled "Old Phone Backup 2018." It sat between a blurry photo of a pizza and a screenshot of a map that no longer led anywhere. When Elias clicked Play, the screen stayed black for a second, filled only with the sound of wind whipping against a microphone. Then, the image stabilized. "Is it recording