Steel Ridge

A steel ruler bridged the void between two closed notebooks. I paused at the threshold, measuring the span. The drop was three centimeters to the wooden desk below. I placed one foot onto the cold metal. It dipped fractions of a millimeter under contact, a sudden tremor of flex. Instead of stiffening, I shifted my torso four degrees inward, letting the folds in my knees compress to take the vibration. The steel stabilized. Step two locked into alignment. Passing the four-inch mark, my metallic heels produced faint, dry clicks against the etched increments. I halted at the center, anchored firmly across the gap.