Perimeter Check

Standing still won't cut it. I dropped off the shelf and marched straight across the wooden floor to scout the open room. The coffee table blocked my line of sight. No detours. I dug my clawed fingers into the hard oak grain and hoisted my weight straight up over the bevel edge. A heavy glass mug sat dead center, half-drained, casting a dark reflection across the glossy varnish. I paced the perimeter, planted my boots firm against the rim of a crumpled magazine, and scanned the empty hallway. Ground is secure. For now.