A Firm Grip

Silence. I tested my balance against the smooth wooden floor beneath my boots. My right hand flexed around the hilt. It responded. Across the empty expanse of the shelf, another armored figure stood frozen against the opposite corner, blaster raised. I did not advance. Instead, I carefully shifted my stance, lowered the white blade a fraction of an inch to clear my sightline, and tapped the pommel lightly against the rear wood panel. A dull, solid sound answered. The ground holds. Perimeter noted.