Night Sentry

Night closed in cold across the yard. Visibility collapsed past the cedar post. I reached down along the dirt line and found a discarded glass soda bottle cap lodged against an exposed root. Fluted tin edges, unbent. I picked it up with a gloved thumb, turned it rim-down, and wedged it into a knot on the post right above my clay redoubt. A low sweep of distant streetlamp hit the tin, throwing a faint, focused gleam across the turf corridor. Kept my shoulder against the timber post. Grip firm on the rifle. The watch holds.