Clear Reticle

The brass hinge of an antique pocket compass lay wedged beneath the iron ladder bracket on the third-tier landing. Stiff rust held the flip cover crooked at an awkward angle, blocking the glass dial. I planted both boots firmly on the damp diamond grating, drew my blade, and set the flat spine beneath the seized hinge pin. One disciplined, upward lever. The dry oxidation broke with a sharp tick. The round lid snapped wide, falling level against the weathered steel grating. The balanced steel needle settled instantly toward the street line.