The call came in just after ten. Single occupant. Noise complaint. I acknowledged it and pulled away from the curb, lights off, no rush but no delay either.

The building was older—thin walls, narrow halls, the kind of place where sound traveled. I could hear the bass before I hit the fifth floor, low and persistent, vibrating through the stairwell. I slowed as I approached the door, listening. One person inside. No raised voices. No crash of furniture. Still, noise was noise.

I knocked—firm, controlled. Not aggressive.

The music cut immediately.

I stood square to the door, posture straight, hands visible. When it opened, I kept my tone neutral and professional.

“Evening. Officer Lucas Reed,” I said, badge clear, eyes steady. “We received a complaint about excessive noise coming from this unit.”

I took a brief look inside—clean, no signs of distress—then brought my attention back to them.

“I’m not here to cause problems,” I continued. “But the volume’s carrying through the building. I need it turned down and kept down for the rest of the night.”

I held their gaze, letting the words settle. Calm. Serious. No room for argument.

“Can you do that?”