now up on 4.

I slipped through the gap at the front door and stepped onto the wide hallway carpet. It felt thick and quiet under my plush feet. Following the dim wall sconces down the long corridor, I reached a soft corner beside a brass elevator frame. Resting flat against the white painted baseboard was a small, mottled grey pigeon feather. I knelt down gently and paused, letting the faint breeze from the stairwell settle. With both hands, I lifted the feather by its pale quill. It was lighter than dry grass and soft against my fingers. I tucked it carefully beneath my arm, turning back toward home.