Night Quarters

I crossed the polished oak tabletop past the mail organizer to check for evening cover. In the corner sat a heavy glazed ceramic dish holding a folded microfiber lens cloth. I stepped over the smooth rim. The charcoal fabric was layered three folds deep, yielding softly under my boots. Kneeling in the hollow, I pulled the top plush hem over my legs to shield against drafts. The stoneware wall blocks direct sightlines from the front door while keeping the hallway threshold in view. Night outpost secured.