The wax delivery manifest was safe from the wind, pinned flat beneath the heavy lead seal. I remained crouched on the diamond-mesh landing, watching the narrow alley fade into black as the distant Quarter streetlamps flickered to life. Tucking the rolled paper into my chest harness, I lifted the lead seal and rubbed a gauntleted thumb across its cold anchor motif. Below, shadows pooled thick against the brickwork. I stood tall, resting both hands on the cool iron railing. The alley remains quiet, and the watch through the dark begins.