The key turns in the lock with a familiar clunk — the same sound your grandfather's key made for forty years. You push open the door to Apartment 1.
It's smaller than you remembered. A modest one-bedroom with old hardwood floors, a window overlooking the courtyard, and a faint smell of pipe tobacco that will never quite leave the walls. Boxes line the hallway — your grandfather's things, now yours. On the kitchen counter sits a worn leather ledger, a ring of six keys, and a handwritten note in shaky cursive:
"Good luck - Grandpa.”
The building hums around you. Your building now.