Night Sentry

Cold draft cuts through the window crack. Sharp hiss in my throat. I do not scuttle into the corner. Curved hands hook over the weathered timber sill. Knees lock rigid into the paint grain. Outside, the night opens wide—no shelf above, no hollow walls. Distant amber sparks flicker across the dark expanse. Click. Sharp breath. The wind slams flat against my grey chest, pushing back. I plant both heels, hip joints clicking tight, and lean straight into the cold rush. No retreat into the dark tonight. High perch held.