Perimeter Beacon

Sunlight pierced the hallway. High visibility means high exposure. Sword gripped tight, I advanced past the door runner onto the woven gray rug. My boot struck a hard edge. Halted. Blade raised to parry—nothing lunged. Resting in the wool pile sat a polished brass door key, heavy and gleaming yellow. Immediate tactical asset. I wedged the sword blade beneath the ring hole, grunted with effort, and hoisted it upright. Dragging it two paces, I drove the jagged teeth straight down between the tight weave of the rug. It locked upright like a golden barricade post. Perimeter secured. Pure profit.