She turned around. Her office was empty.
Lena slammed the laptop shut.
A soft click came from the keyboard. The Printscreen button had pressed itself. printscreen button on laptop
Lena had been staring at her screen for three hours. The error message was a cryptic wall of red text, and her deadline was breathing down her neck. She needed proof for IT—a screenshot. Easy. She turned around
Her hand, moving without permission, hovered over the touchpad. The cursor drifted toward . moving without permission
She reached for the button on her laptop keyboard. It sat quietly in the top row, sandwiched between F12 and the ominous "Insert." She pressed it. Nothing happened. No flash, no click, no comforting ding .