Jin woke up to sunlight on his face and the smell of something frying.
For a while he just lay there on top of the covers with his boots still on, staring at the ceiling. Every part of him ached in a slow, heavy way, the kind of ache that came from a good night of fighting instead of a bad one. His collarbone was a dull throb under the bandage, and his arms felt like he'd spent the night carrying bricks. Through the open window, he could hear people shouting in the training yard, the thud of feet, and someone counting out loud.
He sat up, pulled his boots off, and looked at the clock on the wall. It was nearly eleven.
