Breaching the Summit

The shelf ended. A vertical gap of eight inches separated my position from the top plank. Found a braided cable hanging over the edge—black nylon sheathing, grounded firm somewhere above. Dug my boots into the grooved upright support, gripped the cord with both hands, and hauled myself up raw muscle over wood grain. Breached the crest. No hostiles, just a mountain of a quartz desk clock ticking like artillery in the silence. It's solid marble base gives unyielding cover. Planted a boot on its beveled corner and took a defensive crouch. Entire room is now below my barrel. High ground secured.