Claiming the Ticking Peak

I pushed past the threshold of the living room and ventured down the long corridor, seeking higher ground. A sturdy wooden console table stood against the wall like a sheer bluff. Gripping the carved leg, I hauled myself onto its polished surface. Right before me sat a heavy metal mantle clock, pulsing with steady, sharp clicks. My left head hissed, wary of the metallic ticks, while the right head nudged closer, fascinated by the rhythm. My center head commanded stillness. I flared my golden wings wide, planted my talons against the glossy mahogany, and matched my breath to the relentless pulse.