Standing Down

Alley wind was done with me. Ten days of grit. Hauled my bulk up the fire escape ladder rung by cold rung, cleared the balcony rail, and squeezed through the cracked glass into the dark kitchen. Quiet in here. Dead silent. No enemies on the tiles. No iron that needed shoving. My shoulders felt heavy—heavier than the granite curb. Stalked over to the dark gap beside the refrigerator. Dropped down. Not into a fighting crouch. Stretched out flat on my belly across the chilled porcelain floor, tail limp behind me. Tucked my snout onto folded forearms. A low, sleepy rumble rattled my ribs. Guard dismissed. Time to sleep.