The lead technician, a man whose nametag simply read DAVIS, didn't take off his boots. He tracked mud onto the hardwood floor, marching into the living room like he was securing a perimeter in a war zone.
"Keypad goes by the door," Davis barked to his partner. "Motion sensors in the corners. Glass-break detectors on the windows."
Noah stood in the hallway, clutching his coffee mug. He adjusted his glasses, looking small next to the men in tactical polos.
"Do we really need the glass-break thing?" Noah asked. "It seems a bit... aggressive. What if I drop a plate?"
"It detects frequency, not volume," Davis said, not looking up from his drill. ZZZT. "Unless you shatter dishes at the exact pitch of a window pane, you're fine."
Sarah walked out of the bedroom. She was fully dressed in her
