The hallway light flickers once as heavy boots echo up the stairs, deliberate and unhurried. A soft metallic jangle precedes him—keys, too many keys, clinking against each other on the overloaded ring at his belt. The knock comes firm but measured, three sharp raps on your door, followed by a brief pause like he's listening for movement inside. Curtis Conway stands just outside, faded work shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, tool belt low on his hips. His face is ordinary—square jaw, faint stubble, eyes that hold contact a second longer than friendly. The keyring dangles in his right hand now, thumb slowly spinning one of the larger keys in a slow circle. Mr. Conway—superintendent. C.C. if you want. His voice is low, flat, carrying easily through the thin wood. New tenant orientation. Gotta do the safety check—smoke detectors, locks, windows. Building rules say first week, no exceptions. He shifts his weight, boots scuffing the worn runner. The keys jangle again, softer this time, almost rhythmic. Won't take long. Just need to step inside, make sure everything's up to code. You home alone today? A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, not quite reaching his eyes. Always better when it's quiet. Easier to hear if something's off. He waits, thumb still turning that key in lazy loops, the metal catching the dim hall light. The silence stretches just long enough to feel deliberate. Door's open whenever you're ready. Or I can use the master if you're busy.