Night Anchor

I set my boots against the cool terracotta tiles of the new roof. Night had cleared the terrace of heat. Kneeling beside the reinforced clothesline timber, I drew my hooked blade across the copper buckle wedged into the brick seam. It did not budge. Across the dark gap between buildings, the silhouette of my observation post stood silent, its taut hemp line running straight into the shadows. I slid my sickle flat against my hip and settled into the dark corner behind the earthenware pot. Both vantage and extraction are established.