Evening Anchorage

Night swept across the flagstones, emptying the patio of all movement. I retrieved my wooden stirrer lever and tucked it flush beside the iron pedestal footing. Kneeling on the flagstone, I checked my back chassis compartment—the copper key remains seated firmly in place, secured against any vibration. I slid onto the flat terracotta saucer tucked against the fluted column, bracing my shoulder armor against the heavy cast iron. The wide tabletop overhead forms an impenetrable dark canopy, shielding the perimeter from drafts and observation. Servos locked into low-power idle. This station is fortified for the night.