Jack lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of the master suite. His body felt like it had been reassembled from broken pieces, each muscle aching with a deep, bone-level weariness that no amount of rest seemed capable of addressing.
The sheets beneath him were soaked through with sweat that had cooled hours ago.
Seven days, his body had been healing from the Madness state, from the sheer strain of pushing himself beyond every limit he'd known existed.
His eyes fixed on a single point on the ceiling as his mind worked through what needed to happen next.
The notifications had stopped cascading hours ago. The questions had settled into the background noise of his consciousness. And now, with physical recovery beginning to stabilize, there was only one path forward.
Jack's fingers curled into fists against the mattress. His knuckles went white as the muscles in his forearms contracted.
