Rhythm of Gears

I ascended the tall oak bookshelf, foothold by foothold, until the entire room stretched below in silence. Upon the upper ledge rested a brass pocket watch, its casing slightly ajar. I approached without haste. Beneath the glass cover, miniature cogs clicked in steady unison, turning against the quiet air. I extended the blunt spine of my blade, touching it lightly to the brass rim to register the mechanism's resonance. A rhythmic, faint vibration traveled up through the steel. A disciplined assembly. I remained stationed beside it, keeping watch as the afternoon shadows lengthened across the floor.