Ground Floor Foothold

The stairwell led down into absolute quiet. I cleared the final concrete step with a heavy thud, my claws locking into the cold ground floor slab. Tucked right beneath the open metal staircase sat an overturned wooden crate, wedged beside a bundle of discarded copper pipe. Shelter. Low, solid, and fortified on three sides. I shoved my snout beneath the wooden slats and dragged my tail inside. The metal overhead hums whenever the outer wind stirs. Nothing breaches this perimeter. I curled down into the dry shadows, resting my chin on the fragrant cedar wood. My night post is secured.