Jason learned his limits the next morning.
Not because he was reckless. Because he assumed limits behaved the way they used to.
He woke sore. Properly sore this time. Muscles stiff, joints protesting as he rolled out of bed. He stretched slowly, carefully, waiting for the familiar easing that usually followed.
It came but not fully.
"That's new," he muttered.
Downstairs, Mira eyed him as he poured water into a basin.
"You look like you lost an argument with a wall," she said.
"Feels about right."
She handed him a cup of something bitter and steaming. "Drink. And don't be stupid today."
Jason accepted it gratefully. The liquid burned on the way down and left warmth in his chest.
Work was lighter that day indoor tasks mostly, cleaning, inventory, small repairs. Jason moved slower, respecting the tightness in his muscles.
Still, by midday, he felt the familiar pull again.
Not toward growth.
Toward overreach.
It was subtle. A temptation to take on just one more task. To lift just one more crate. To push past what felt reasonable.
Jason recognized it immediately.
And stopped.
That, too, was a choice.
He rested when he needed to. Drank water. Let the ache fade naturally instead of forcing it.
That evening, when he checked his status, nothing had changed.
Status
Level: 2
Physical Capacity: 2
Endurance: 2
Coordination: 1
Jason wasn't disappointed.
If anything, he felt reassured.
Limits existed.
That meant consequences did too.
After dinner, Aldric asked him to help repair a loose shutter on the upper floor. The ladder wobbled slightly as Jason climbed, rain-slick wood testing his balance.
Halfway up, he paused, heart pounding ,not from fear, but from awareness. Every movement felt… accounted for. As if his body was quietly calculating risk.
He finished the repair without incident and climbed down carefully.
Charlotte was waiting at the bottom.
"You're cautious," she said, not accusing.
Jason shrugged. "I like staying upright."
She smiled faintly. "Most people here don't. Not until it's too late."
They stood there for a moment, the rain tapping against the roof above them.
"Do you plan to stay?" she asked.
"I don't know," Jason said honestly.
She nodded, as if that answer made sense. "The city doesn't mind people who don't know yet."
She turned and went back inside.
Jason watched her go, then looked out at the darkening street.
The city felt stable.
That, he was beginning to suspect, was the most dangerous thing about it.