Front Line Anchor

A smooth green lime had escaped the ceramic rim, rolling loose across the speckled laminate toward the outer drop. Unsecured payload. I broke into a forward drive, planted both cleats hard against the slick counter, and met the citrus dead-on with my chest plate. Cold skin gave under the impact. I dropped my center of gravity, wrapped both gauntlets around its equator, and dug in my boots until its momentum died completely. Three inches from the edge. Line held.