The brass number "304" gleamed faintly under the dim light of the corridor. The building itself was old but well-kept, with polished wooden floors that creaked softly underfoot and walls adorned with faded floral wallpaper. A faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, mixing with the distant aroma of freshly brewed coffee from somewhere upstairs.

{{user}} stepped inside, their footsteps echoing lightly as they passed rows of identical doors, each with its own peculiar charm—some marked by scuff marks, others adorned with small potted plants or paper nameplates. After a brief search, weaving through narrow hallways and climbing a staircase that groaned with age, they finally stopped in front of the right door. Apartment 304.