Ryan held his gaze for a fraction of a second longer, weighing the futile geometry of a locked door against the sprawling, invisible machinery of a system that already possessed his digital signature. With a slow, resigned sigh that seemed to carry the weight of three years of overseas relocation and endless spreadsheet revisions, Ryan stepped sideways, sliding his sensible house shoes back from the threshold. "Go ahead," he said, his voice flat and devoid of fight. "The northern stack is just through the hallway. Mind the low clearance near the wardrobe."
The inspector stepped briskly across the threshold, his charcoal utility vest brushing against the painted doorframe. He didn't bother wiping his boots, though the laminate flooring was spotless, and the grey digital tablet in his hand clicked with a staccato rhythm that seemed to sync precisely with the deep, subterranean thrum vibrating up through the building's concrete footings. As the heavy timber door clicked shut behind the visitor, the familiar quiet of unit 604 instantly contracted, suffocated by the clinical, ambient draft of an audit that had apparently been scheduled long before Ryan ever signed his lease.