He hadn’t shown anyone. He’d just opened a file on a secondhand laptop.
Sam felt his pulse in his throat. He looked at the eye again. It blinked. He hadn’t blinked.
The white text changed: “Yes, you are. You always were. 172.16.50.5 is not an address. It’s a name. Your name in hexadecimal. 50 is your age at death. 5 is how many people you’ll show this to before you vanish.”