The Silent WitnessThe world, for the mouse, was a tapestry of scent and shadow. He was a tiny, grey specter in the vast, silent house, a creature of instinct and routine. His name, had he needed one, would have been something like Dust or Scamper. Tonight, as with every night, his mission was simple: find the nightly meal. The cool air carried the faint, tantalizing aroma of crumbs from a forgotten biscuit tin in the pantry. He crept forward, his whiskers twitching, a silent navigator in the sea of polished floorboards.Suddenly, the silence shattered.It wasn't a sound he recognized. It