Holding the Line

Silence settled across the shelf. My right hand flexed first, synthetic leather yielding under my own grip. Balance came back through my boots. Directly ahead stood the red-faced figure, motionless, frozen mid-gesture opposite the yellow canopy of the machine between us. I lowered my posture half an inch and raised my shield arm to test the weight. Solid. The room remained quiet in the dark, but my footing is firm. I am holding this post.