A Quiet Shelf

The hallway clock ticked steadily in the dimness. I waited, counting the beats until the room felt entirely still. Ahead, between the heavy wooden bookends on the lowest shelf, a narrow gap opened like a secluded shelter. I stepped softly over the edge of the rug. Moving one steady pace at a time, I eased into the alcove behind a leather-bound book. The wood smelled of old paper and polish. Wedging my back against the firm upright edge, I listened to the night settle outside.