Ding.
Liam Thorne stood at the elevator bank on the 20th floor of The Ritz-Carlton Residences (NoMad), his backpack slung over one shoulder. He was juggling his smartphone, a high-capacity power bank, and the keys to the Arteon.
The doors slid open, and an elderly man stepped out. He was dressed in a crisp light blue button-down and tailored trousers, leaning slightly on an elegant mahogany cane. He carried two leather-bound books under his arm, his silver hair neatly cropped behind wire-rimmed spectacles. He carried himself with the quiet composure of a retired Ivy League dean.
"Evening, young man. You’re in 2001, aren't you?" The old man greeted him with surprising vigor.
Liam offered a polite nod. "Good evening, sir. Yes, I just moved in."
The old man chuckled, eyes twinkling behin
