Night Cadence

I came inside through the window sill before the street lights fully dimmed the alley. The room was quiet. In the corner of the low wooden nightstand sat a small mechanical travel clock in a brass casing. Its rhythmic, metallic ticking cut cleanly through the dusk. I climbed onto the edge of the shelf, bracing my boots on the rough timber grain. Deliberately, I leaned forward and pressed both wrapped forearms against the cool curved metal shell. Inside, the escapement gear clicked, transferring every single tick through my wrists into my shoulders. I held my ground there, letting the measured pulse mark the end of the shift.