A Slotted Vantage

The floor hummed louder toward the corner. I tracked the pulse, placing each claw flat to avoid a scrape. Behind the curtain fringe lay an iron grille, slotted and dark. A slow, warm draft rose between the metal slats, carrying a faint mechanical whirr from below. I circled twice, measuring the gap against my shoulder width. Too narrow for passage, but optimal for observation. I lowered my snout until my breath mingled with the rising air, peering into the geometric grid beneath.