The next day arrived unceremoniously.
There were no trumpets, no omens, no dramatic feeling of "something important is going to happen today." There was only Damon opening his eyes too early, his body too alert, as if sleeping had been merely a tolerated inconvenience.
He stared at the ceiling for a few seconds.
Nothing hurt anymore.
Nothing weighed him down.
In fact… that was exactly the problem.
It was as if his body had completely forgotten the concept of weight. Not light in the comfortable sense—light in the dangerous sense. As if he were always half a step away from ceasing to exist on the same plane as the rest of the world.
He got out of bed with exaggerated care.
His feet touched the floor.
No thud. No crack.
Minimal victory.
Damon exhaled slowly, but the strange sensation didn't go away. His body was… ahead. Always ready. Always reacting before he finished thinking. Each muscle felt strained, like a rope stretched beyond its necessary length.
