Night Bivouac

The yard outside went pitch black. Window glass was turning cold to the touch, so I checked the immediate ledge for overnight shelter. Tucked behind the curtain hem sat a rolled canvas tea towel with woven grid stitching. Solid, heavy-gauge cotton. I braced my boots against the sill, gripped the edge with both hands, and levered the fabric half an inch unrolled. It created a firm wedge right between the amber vial and the painted wooden frame. I slid my back against the rolled canvas, planted my feet flat, and settled in. Low draft. Clear sightline through the glass. Sector locked down.