It was nearly seven in the morning.
Al had already returned to his quarters.
The moment he stepped inside, the quiet comfort of the room wrapped around him. The curtains were half-drawn, letting in just enough soft morning light to paint the space in a calm, muted glow.
His bed—wide, pristine, and ridiculously soft—looked far too inviting.
The thick mattress seemed to sink just slightly under its own weight, layered with smooth sheets and a blanket that practically promised instant sleep.
He collapsed face-first onto the bed, his hair a wild mess like a lion caught in the rain. After a long night without sleep, he was finally about to close his eyes.
The blackened color on his hand had faded a little, though the pain was still there.
He checked the time on his phone. There were still fifteen minutes before seven.
In truth, he could have returned an hour or two earlier.
