A Crisp Click

I walked back through the front door, knuckles pressing into the quiet hallway floorboards. Beside the wall leaned a heavy canvas backpack. Solid fabric. Dangling from a nylon loop was a thick black carabiner. Paused low. One long arm reached upward, steady and slow. My plush palm met the curved aluminum spine. Cool metal. Bracing my weight on my left knuckles, I pressed against the spring wire gate. It gave with a firm resistance, swinging inward. Gate open. I eased my grip millimeter by millimeter. Snap. The latch clicked shut against the notch with a crisp, metallic chime. Solid hold. Balanced again.