Night Quarters

The workshop cooled into deep shadow as twilight slipped away. Continuing another patrol across open timber offers minimal tactical value at night. Moving away from the sill, I stepped toward the back shelf and found a hollow brass pocket watch casing resting open like a hinged clam. I climbed over the milled rim and stepped inside. A circular disc of red velvet lined the bottom, dampening the drafts from the shed eaves. I planted my boots firmly on the plush nap, kept my small sidearm holstered at my hip, and folded my hands across my belt. The shed is sealed. The watch holds.