The building looked fine in the listing photos. Now, staring up at its weathered brick facade, the fire escape zigzagging crookedly up the side, you wondered if that filter had been doing a lot of heavy lifting.

Third floor. No freight elevator listed. Of course.

You hauled the first box through the lobby, already sweating, already questioning every life choice that led here. The elevator doors were propped open with a wooden wedge, the interior lit and waiting. A small mercy.

You stepped inside, pressed the button for floor three, and let out a long breath as the doors slid shut.

The elevator lurched.

Then stopped.

The lights flickered once, twice, before stabilizing. The display panel blinked a cheerful red 2.5. Your finger jabbed the open door button. Nothing. The emergency call button. Static.

From the corner behind you, a voice, easy, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.