Chasing the Metal Whistle

That shrill, wheezing rattle cut straight through the morning quiet, and I wasn't about to ignore the alarm. I scrambled up the kitchen chair, vaulted onto the cool granite counter, and charged toward the source: a gleaming stainless-steel kettle perched right next to the stovetop. It wasn't puffing steam anymore, but the metal body hummed with residual warmth. I planted my boots against the marble ridge, thrust my staff out, and tapped the curved metal side with a brisk clack. A dull chime echoed back, buzzing right through my grip. Ha! Whatever heat was trapped inside, it clearly knew another fire when it met one.