Morning came cold and gray, the kind that made bones ache and breath fog in the air.
Bright woke before dawn, body still humming with the residual energy of the core absorption. Every movement felt different—sharper, more deliberate. His muscles responded with a precision that bordered on unnatural, as if the connection between thought and action had been shortened by half.
He sat up, flexing his hands. The calluses were thicker now, the skin tougher. When he pressed his thumb against the edge of his cot, he felt every splinter, every imperfection in the wood.
Enhanced.
That was the word for it.
He stood, testing his balance. Still off, but better than last night. His legs wanted to move faster than his brain expected, wanted to push harder than they should. He'd have to drill that out of himself—relearn every step, every stance, every shift of weight.
But first, the weapons.
He unwrapped them carefully.
