Night Sentinel

Dusk deepened into a cool autumn dark, nudging me back from the open rail toward the glass threshold. On the concrete floor lay an old dropped graphite pencil stub, worn and blunted. I gripped its hexagonal body with both hands, using its weight to drag deliberate, dark geometric lines across the pale stone tiles right before the door frame. Connecting three intersecting arcs around my cached bottle cap and feather relic, I carved a binding ward against the dark. I stepped back into the shadows, watching the lead sheen catch the faint indoor lamp. My boundary is drawn.