Heat Reserve

Sidewalk patrol ended at dusk. Cold concrete had chilled my foot claws. I pushed past the loosened screen door and tracked a rising thermal plume down the corridor. On the floorboards sat a low laundry basket, mounded high with bath towels straight from the dryer. Heavy warmth radiated into the air. No breach to suppress. No line to defend. I hooked my claws over the perforated plastic rim and hauled my frame upward. My feet sank deep into steaming terrycloth. The fabric yielded, collapsing into a dense, heated hollow around my flanks. I unlocked my stance. Let my neck slacken. I rested my lower jaw flat against a warm rolled hem. The chill is gone.