Open Expanse

The distance to the coffee table was twelve paces of exposed wool pile. No cover. I dropped low, pressing flat against the rug. Moving by inches. Halfway across the gap, my greave struck a rigid obstruction—a thick, braided black cable snaking across the clearing. I froze. Monitored for feedback. Nothing. The line was cold. Disconnected. Working with deliberate pressure, I hoisted the heavy nylon coil and wedged its thick aluminum tip beneath the edge of the woven carpet runner. Trapped flat. The surface line is grounded. I advanced into the shadow of the table leg. Forward sector reached.