The wind off the avenue shifted, bringing the chill of full dark against the cedar staves. I stepped past the secured turnbuckles to inspect the corner stanchion. The slate quill I anchored earlier remained upright, pinned in place by the iron twist. Nearby, the amber reflector cast a cold, blood-red marker into the swirling fog. I braced my boots against the iron rim, leaning out into the void to scan the rooftops below. Everything answered to order. Motionless. Unblinking. The perimeter holds into the night.