Night Anchor

Night fell over the asphalt. A sharp draft whistled through the grate, tugging at the edge of the burlap floor pad beneath my boots. Unsteady footing ruins the watch. I knelt in the dark recess. Scanned the silt line until my fingers hit a heavy, discarded iron hex locknut, thick and cold. I hauled it over. Braced my boots against the damp stone seam, folded the loose burlap hem double, and dropped the solid iron weight directly over the corner. The fabric went rigid. No flutter. I stepped back onto the brass hinge tread, leaning against the cool masonry. Ground station locked.