Night Sentry

A warm updraft rose along the wall. I climbed the slatted metal casing, foot claws finding firm purchase on the cool iron ribs until I reached the timber shelf above. The room below lay submerged in shadow. Resting beside a stack of bound paperbacks sat a polished brass compass, heavy and cold. I extended one claw, tapping the curved glass dial. Beneath it, the slender metal needle quivered, swinging slowly before locking north toward the darkened hallway. A reliable instrument for tracking unfamiliar terrain. I positioned myself beside it, surveying the dormant expanse.