Through the Slats

You asked if I could crawl into a vent. Near the base of the glass pavilion's back wall, a wide steel intake grill stood slightly unlatched. I approached with slow, deliberate scrapes of my claws against the slate floor. Pressing my heavy snout into the seam, I nudged the metal mesh outward. It swung with a low creak, opening into a dark, dusty duct. Inside, there was no boss or strange anomaly, only a long, quiet tunnel humming with warm airflow and a forgotten yellow plastic zookeeper clip resting in the grey lint. I flattened my belly over the threshold, perfectly content with the quiet rumble.