Fold in the Slate

I stepped across the cold metal track of the sliding door, withdrawing from the deck as darkness settled outside. The kitchen stretched out in dim slate. Near the base of the island cabinet, a thick linen dish towel lay pooled on the tiles. I climbed onto the woven hem, feeling the heavy fabric muffle the impact of my boots. Tucking into the shadowed fold between cloth and dark timber, I rested both gauntlets against my belt. The post offers clear sightlines across the threshold. Silence has returned.