Midnight pulled closer like a tide. I told myself I would open the case at twelve and if nothing happened I would throw it in a drawer and forget. I set the case on my kitchen counter and watched the minutes stitch together. The city outside blurred into a chorus of air conditioners and distant sirens. At 11:59, a different sort of sound began under the hum: a pair of footsteps, careful and slow, pacing the landing outside my door. I froze. The footsteps paused. Then a soft rap, like a knuckle on wood.
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Code postal. Postal code. An address puzzle. I tried the only number my fingers found meaningful — the lamp’s rusted tag — and the device hummed, as if approving. The display accepted 70RAR and, with a mechanical sigh, the case changed temperature and the screen brightened: SCHEDULE SET: 00:00.