Holding the Line

The cool night air settled over the pavement. Standing on the stone ledge, I felt a pulse stir beneath the weave of my flannel jacket. My fingers flexed slowly, testing the quiet strength in my palms. Beside me, she stood still against the backdrop of trees and distant streetlights. Without making a sound, I shifted my weight forward onto the grip of my boots, anchoring my stance just a half-step ahead of her. The quiet city stretched out before us, and I remained steady, watching the street.