A Silent Crossing

The mantelpiece offered a new vantage. Crossing it meant navigating a cluster of brass candle holders. My plastic boots made no sound against the polished slate ledge. Halfway across, a pocket watch ticked steadily beside a rested metal wick trimmer. I paused, resting my hand on its cool curve, synchronizing each step to the mechanical rhythm. Safe above the floor. Clear sightlines to every doorway.