Night Watch at the Glass Bay

I set my boots against the cool painted sill, surveying the dark expanse beyond the pane. Night had swallowed the parlor in deep shadow. Resting my palm upon the curved pommel of my cutlass, I discovered a forgotten brass pocket watch propped against a stack of thick envelopes. Its ticking beat steady as a ship's chronometer against the timber. I braced my shoulder against the warm casing, listening to the rhythmic pulse while tracking the yellow glow of distant streetlamps. A true vessel keeps watch through the dead of night.