"We move the way," I said.
Boone nodded like walls nod when they agree to carry weight. "Ost-Service," he said. "Judges' Stairs, Innen-Vestibül, inside wide through the frame. Same nouns. Same air. Same three feet."
Rita's thumbs were already building a rectangle that rooms could learn. "Copy stays," she said. "09:47 wide from inside - consent on record lower-third - window on board - caption window reads 'consent stated on air' with time. Only the arrows change."
Aisha's voice came clean, like metal put to rights. "I'm calling Facilities Counsel for written permission," she said. "Your supervisor's 'no filming in hallway' sign is about common-space camera crews. Our inside wide is on our side of the door with a lens pointed out. I'll get the email that says exactly that."
Boone drew the route in the air with two fingers as if air were a map that wanted to understand. "Service Ost → staff corridor behind records → Judges' Stairs forty-four steps → vestibül rail → inside wide," he said. "Cones will try to think they are laws. They are not."
Victor tested the hallway with his ear. "Alarm tests will chirp," he said. "If they ride the piezo frequency, I'll notch them without touching your voice. If strobes hit, they'll flash behind the lens, not into it. Window will love the flash if it must."
Rita looked at me and Evan in turn. "Uhr bleibt," she said. "Because the vote is at 08:30 and we cannot be two places at once. The picture at 09:47 kills the after-spin."
Evan gave the smallest yes, the kind that belongs to load-bearing beams. "We own the 09:47," he said. "We do not chase 08:30 with bad nouns."
"Send route," I said.
Rita split the message into three quiet rivers. One for Serena/Handler, one for Host/Vivian, one for Agent/Board. The text was the same sentence with a different scar in each - a comma here, a hyphen there - canary marks small enough to ride in memory and large enough to sing when stolen.
"Routes out," she said. "Canary variant S-H uses a comma after 'inside'. H-V uses a hyphen before 'window'. A-B uses a double space after 'wide'."
Aisha came back with the kind of good news that fits on a line. "Written permission granted," she said. "Quoting: 'Interior filming from tenant threshold permitted; camera must not obstruct egress; no faces of non-consenting staff.' Supervisor cc'ed."
"Thank you," Rita said. "That line about faces will save us an hour of arguments."
The building supervisor reappeared with a single-sheet printout and a pen that knew how to write names without needing to show off. "Email from Counsel," he said, holding it at reading distance. "I'll post it near the sign. If anyone's confused in the morning, they can learn to read."
"Credential," Boone said, and the man grinned without offense. He showed the badge again, because repetition is also a kindness.
"Alarm test note," the supervisor added. "Ost corridor has a two-tone chirp at :45 and :00 for the techs. Strobes only in the lobby. Your vestibül will flicker but not blind you."
Victor smiled like a man who knows which frequencies to ignore. "Notch at three-four kilohertz and its friend," he said. "We'll be boring on purpose."
Rita sent the window board file in mirror to the East feed. "Board mirrors on Ost," she said. "caption window plate duplicated. Control will hate me for asking for two boards; they will live."
Vivian's name lit up in the thread like weather that has learned to deliver mail without thunder. Board: 08:30 vote stands; they 'monitor sentiment' at 07:00; they tolerate Consent on Record; they want the window plate 'smaller if possible.'
"Window is a noun, not a garnish," Rita typed back. "Size stays legible by accessibility specs. If they want smaller, they can publish the PDF."
The Host's reply arrived with useful cheer. I'll stand on the East step at 09:44 if you need the throw. Six words are warmed. No 'clarify' in my pocket.
Serena's handler answered with the economy of men who don't sell adjectives. Route updated. We can hit East vestibül at 09:46. Serena will post at 09:40 as planned.
"Copy," Rita said.
Nolan's account posted a smug little square: Courthouse Cam moved to East. The photo was of a different city's east door. It is a kind of art to be that wrong with that confidence.
"window guard," I said.
"Always," Rita said.
Boone closed his eyes and listened to a building that wasn't this one. "The Judges' Stairs creak on the fifth riser," he said. "We won't be able to hide. That's good. Hidden is suspicious. Present is boring."
Victor knelt and checked the stickiness of the pad on my palm with a glance. "It will hold until lunch," he said, half a joke, half a blessing. "Don't change it in a stairwell."
"Wouldn't dream of it," I said.
Aisha pinged a short addendum. "County Counsel is grateful for the line about not calling clerks and for the pinned incident number," she said. "They'll post a second rectangle at dawn: We do not confirm or deny vital records. You can mirror. No adjectives."
Vivian sent a photo from outside Pelham - pink tape now crossing itself like a failed math problem near the East steps. Cones bratty as toddlers. Her caption: I can move these before eight. After that, the city will move them back if someone complains. Buy your frame from inside.
"We are buying," Rita said. "And we're paying with window."
Boone tapped the floor with his shoe in a little three-beat that makes lenses earn their keep. "Three feet between bodies," he said again, because rules like to be said twice. "Hands visible. no unannounced intimacy printed on the wall if we must."
Rita opened her notes and scrolled to a rule card she has printed in a dozen fonts. no unannounced intimacy. She smiled without showing teeth. "I have tape," she said.
The neighbor's peephole considered and declined to be today's story. The hallway honored the choice.
"Tech," Victor said, raising his palm. "If strobes hit the vestibül, heads can flicker. Keep chin level. Don't reach for hair or eyes. The flicker is a cut waiting to be stolen. If you don't blink, they can't sell the blink."
"Copy," I said.
Evan rolled the twelve words in his mouth again until they felt like tools instead of lines. "I haven't consented to romantic staging today. If you see it, it's editing, not my consent."
"Clean," Rita said.
The Major-Blog's navy tile updated to a proud little map with a red dot where a drain lives on the west side. Under it, 'We will be on the real door.' The joke wrote itself and then politely did not ask to be spoken.
Vivian sent a one-liner that understood coexisting with enemies: We can put a PA on the planter to look bored. Bored wastes lenses.
"Do it," Rita typed. "Boredom is a weapon."
Boone's phone chimed with a facility alert we all now share. He read it with the attention of a man who likes when concrete tells the truth. "Ost corridor alarm chirp at 09:45 and 10:00 confirmed," he said. "Vestibül flicker at 09:46 to test. That's our minute. We let the flicker live behind the window."
Victor made a square in the air with his hands. "Plate left, flicker right," he said. "Truth owns the attention; flash becomes texture."
Aisha added the last small hinge. "I asked Facilities to put a floor runner at the top of Judges' Stairs to steer tourists," she said. "No names. Just a vest that says 'testing'. Credential handles questions. No crowding."
Rita took a breath and then gave it back to the room. "Routes are in," she said. "canary marks embedded. window mirrored. Board informed. Serena set. Host warm. Agent briefed. Vote remains at 08:30. We sleep four hours and spend them like money."
"Copy," the air said.
We did the small rituals of closing a night. Victor muted the white-noise app and watched it obey. Boone checked the stairwell again with the sort of patience people mistake for superstition. Aisha promised to be a ghost with a calendar. Vivian promised something that sounded like quiet and probably was.
Rita looked at her screen, not hunting, confirming. She smiled with only the corners she can spare. "PIO posted the 'no confirm/deny'," she said. "We mirror at :05 and put the phones down."
"Phones down," Evan said, not as an order, as a kind of prayer.
We were placing our pockets in the world when Rita's alert for press pen trouble sparked. A square from Nolan's feed. A map. Not the wrong one this time. A bullet list cribbed from a text he should not have had.
09:47 WIDE - inside, consent on record - window on board - caption window reads 'consent stated on air' - Serena first. No labels.
Under it, he had added: 😉 We own the hinge either way.
The list looked like ours. It looked like our sentence. It looked like our punctuation.
Rita did not swear. She opened her sent messages and read the scars she had placed on three copies. Comma comma. Hyphen-hyphen. Double space.
She zoomed the screenshot as if it were a face she could teach a lesson.
The list on Nolan's post carried a hyphen before window that did not belong to Serena's or the Host's copy. It did not carry the double space after wide. It wore the little dash in the exact place she had seeded for one thread.
She lifted the phone so we could all see the tiny, damning line.
"It came from Board," she said.