Send the proof. Take it back when you’re done.

Snap what the customer is looking at, circle the part that matters, and send one link. They open it in whatever browser is on the machine in front of them, and there is nothing for them to install or sign up for.

When the ticket closes, turn the link off. From then on it reads as not found, like a link that never existed, and turning it back on restores the same address if they come back next week.

Or set a last day and forget about it. The link stops working at the end of that day, UTC, whether or not anybody on the support desk remembers to go back and close it.

Cover the other customer’s details before you send it. On a screenshot, redaction deletes those pixels instead of painting over them, so what leaves your hands is the picture minus the part that was never yours to forward, and the annotation page has that in full.

The other buttons change the link: finish the upload, add a password, delete the capture. Watch the chat card and the stranger’s page change the way they change in the product.

That address is reserved for documentation and can never resolve, so there’s no capture behind it. These buttons touch this page and your clipboard, and stop there.

The link is registered first and the file follows. Paste it into a channel while the progress bar is still climbing: it’s already the right link.

If your colleague opens it early, the viewer says it in its own words: Still processing. This page will show it as soon as it is ready - the link already works, so you can send it now.

Only a capture that is genuinely still processing gets that sentence. Anything else says it’s a dead end, so nobody waits around for something that is never coming.

It’s a plain form post, so it works with JavaScript off. That’s why it opens in an email preview pane, and in whatever locked-down browser the person you sent it to is stuck with.

Ten attempts per link per ten minutes. Each unlock is minted for one link, so a shared machine never quietly opens everything else you ever sent.

A gated link gives up nothing before it’s opened. The chat unfurl and the browser tab both read Password protected instead of the real name, because the name of a capture is often the whole secret.

Paste a screenshot link into Slack, Teams or Discord and it unfurls into a real card. Nothing to install on either end.

Chat apps keep an unfurl in a message for ever. This one points at the share page rather than straight at the video host, and it re-checks the link every time the frame loads. Revoke it, expire it or add a password, and the card sitting in that old channel obeys the next time anybody looks.

Delete a capture and its link goes dead immediately. Restore it from the trash and the same link comes back working. An end-to-end test walks that round trip, opening the link at every step.

A link that never existed, one that expired, one somebody guessed, one whose capture was deleted: all four land on the same page. Somebody fishing for tokens learns nothing.

Whoever opens your link is not measured. The share viewer mounts no counter and no third-party script, and a build check keeps it that way.

You don’t get a view count either. Nothing here is built on knowing who watched.

None of this happens until you ask for it. The desktop switch stays off until you turn it on and fill in both address fields, and your captures sit on your own computer meanwhile. You can still upload one card on its own, to the address in Settings, when you want to share a single recording.

With it on, a finished recording is registered with the address you gave, and the file itself goes to whatever upload address that server hands back, which may be a video host rather than the server you typed. The share link is copied to your clipboard. Anyone holding it can watch, so treat one like a password.

The privacy notice lists everything that leaves your computer, item by item.