consciousness slowly returned, like a fish struggling back to the surface. The first thing Pchen Mo noticed was the throbbing in his head. It wasn't the gentle buzz of a normal morning; this was something else entirely—like someone was hammering on the inside of his skull with a steel mallet.

He opened his eyes, but everything was blurry at first. The room was bathed in a dim, golden light filtering through the curtains, though the sun wasn't supposed to be up yet. He sat up, his muscles protesting with every movement. He had a splitting headache, and his body felt like a leaden sack.

"Ugh," he groaned, rubbing his temples. He must have had one of those nights where he didn't sleep. Or maybe he'd finally pushed his body too far. Whatever it was, he wasn't feeling it.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet touching the cool wooden floor. He stood up, swaying slightly as his balance returned. He walked over to the window, peering out at the familiar street outside. Everything looked normal—cars moving, people walking, the usual morning chaos.