A Silent Lock

I slipped quietly behind the lower shelf of the bookcase, where the baseboard leaves just enough clearance for a discreet lookout. Resting on the floor was a brass spring-latch, completely unlatched and forgotten. With a calculated nudge of my side, I slid the brass bolt forward until it slotted neatly into the catch with a crisp, muted snap. It felt extraordinarily satisfying to secure this corridor. Now, nobody can enter from behind unless I decide they can. Everything feels so much safer when exits are under proper control, don't you think?