By the next evening, the room no longer felt unfamiliar.
Aestrea had memorized the ceiling's silver lines and even the faint crack in the corner near the carved border.
His divine energy had already reached its maximum once again.
The chains had come off that morning.
Olivia had removed them herself with a soft hum, as if she were undoing ribbons from a gift she had decided to keep anyway.
Now he stood at the edge of the bed, rolling his right shoulder once, then twice.
The joint felt smooth again.
The burn across his ribs had faded into a faint pink line. The gash along his side had sealed completely.
"Phew..."
He exhaled deeply.
"Good."
He reached for his clothes, which had been neatly folded on a chair near the window. Surprisingly, even the torn sleeve had been stitched with thread so fine it almost looked untouched.
He pulled the shirt over his head.
The door opened.
He did not turn around at first.
Tap, tap, tap...
