Morning came without fanfare.
No trumpet of sunlight. No dreamlike haze. Just the cold light of day pressing against the city's skyline as if daring it to pretend nothing had changed.
Lin Feng woke early, not from habit but instinct. His body felt charged, not rested. The kind of tension that didn't fade with hours—it had to be worked out through motion, thought, or fire.
He sat up in the apartment suite atop the Eastern Prominence. High above the quiet hum of the city, his view stretched over rooftops and towers—most of which belonged to people who'd shaken his hand the night before.
Now they'd be re-evaluating him.
That dinner hadn't ended with dessert. It had ended with calculation. The ones who smiled most were likely the ones already drawing new lines in the sand.
He moved to the kitchenette, poured water, and turned on the encrypted tablet the system had synced weeks ago. No blue light, no chirps. Just cold information.
