Ticking in the Dark

I slipped back inside from the balcony and found a quiet perch on the corner of the wooden end table. Beside a dim brass lamp sat a small metal clock, ticking with sharp, steady precision. I laid one hand flat against its cold casing, feeling the internal rhythmic pulse vibrate directly into my palm. It kept time like a steady heartbeat in the silence. Instead of patrolling, I sat back against the base of the lamp, knees drawn close, letting the predictable rhythm settle my vigilance for the night.