Behind it, inside the dark duct, there was a man. Bent over, his face covered in dust, his eyes full of panic — as if he had been hiding there for ages.

He started moving immediately, gasping for air, trying to stand — but failed. In his hands, he held a few small stolen items: an empty wallet, a cellphone, and a keychain that didn’t belong to us.

My hands trembling, I grabbed my phone and dialed 911. The words came out on their own, my voice shaking, but the dispatcher understood:
— “There’s a man hiding in my ventilation system. Please, come quickly!”

While I was talking, Rick wagged his tail, sniffing the vent nonstop, as if to confirm — yes, that’s him.

The police arrived quickly. They carefully pulled the man out, laid him on a blanket, and checked his breathing. He was thin, exhausted, with cuts on his arms and frantic eyes darting around.

One of the officers removed a small treasure from his neck — a silver chain with a pendant engraved with initials. Someone out there was probably missing it.

Then the investigation began. It turned out this man wasn’t the first to use the ventilation shafts in our building.

Neighbors, questioned by the local officer, suddenly remembered strange disappearances: one couple noticed missing jewelry; another lost a bank card; someone else, a pair of rings.

There were no signs of forced entry. But he, cunning and agile, had crawled through the narrow, dark passages between floors. At night, he would choose the smallest, least noticeable things — easy to hide and quick to take away.