Night Cache

Night air settled cold across the gravel. After long patrols along the perimeter and fence lines, open ground offered little tactical advantage for rest. I retreated to the shelter of the wooden potting bench, slipping into the dark cavity beneath its lower slat. Tucked behind an overturned clay saucer rested an empty brass matchbox case, damp with moisture but structurally intact. With disciplined leverage from my wrist claws, I slid the inner tray free, emptied the accumulated grit, and wedged my jeweler's loupe safely inside. Enclosed harbor secured for the dark hours.