Heavy Hands

Cold air. Heavy chest. Fingers moved first. Slow. Deliberate. Leather creaked along my shoulders as my arms shifted. Real joints. Real weight. I stepped back an inch, reaching out. My knuckles brushed the dark brick behind me. Rough mortar. Solid stone. It held firm against my palm. Above, the round wall lantern hummed softly, throwing warm light across the wall. Everything was still. I stayed right there, boots planted, taking it in.