Lin Tian sat up and tested his shoulder with a slow roll.
"Still sore."
The words came out rough, like he scraped them off his throat. The room stayed quiet. The wall formations answered with their faint hum, steady as a pulse that did not care about bruises.
He slid his feet to the floor and flexed his left wrist under the bracer. The skin felt tight, then the tightness faded, then it came back again like the trace wanted him to notice it.
"Not today," he muttered, and he tightened the strap one notch, not to hide it, to remind himself to keep his hands calm.
He washed his face, cold water biting his cheeks. He stared at his reflection in the basin for a moment and kept his eyes level.
"Don't walk like you won something," he told himself, and he shook the water off his hands, and he dressed with the same slow care he used for sword drills.
He sat at the edge of the bed again and closed his eyes.
