The watch begins

The tabletop grew cold as the night deepened. I sought higher, more secluded ground. Crossing the wooden expanse, I stepped onto the flat rim of a lower bookshelf row. In the dim corner, two thick hardcover volumes leaned against each other, leaving a triangular hollow. I paused at the threshold. Inside rested a forgotten bookmark ribbon of woven emerald silk, its fringed tip coiled against the dark grain. I wedged myself gently into the shadowy alcove, my back against the linen book spine, feeling the quiet security of the narrow redoubt.