The first sign that something has changed is that nothing happens.
No spike. No pressure snapping awake. No familiar tightening behind my eyes that tells me I am about to be needed somewhere else. I wake before dawn out of habit, not urgency, and lie there for a few seconds waiting for the pull that never comes.
It does not arrive.
I count my breaths once. Then again.
Still nothing.
The cabin is quiet. Adam’s breathing is steady beside me, slow and even in the way it only is when he is actually asleep and not half listening for danger. Outside, the forest is doing what forests do when no one is watching too closely. Wind through leaves. Something small moving across the ground. Life continuing without checking in first.
I sit up slowly, feet touching the floor, muscles ready out of r
