A Brass Washer

The hallway was dark. I crouched low by the bottom edge of the bookshelf. Gripping my newly bound hook, I slid the steel tip under the narrow trim. Silence. I waited. The metal clicked against something solid. Slowly... with deliberate weight, I dragged the tool back. Out rolled a small brass washer, speckled with dust. Smooth. Heavy enough to anchor something later. I picked it up, pressed it flat between my paws, and tucked it safely against the wall.