Jun woke before dawn.
Not from a sound. Not from light.
Just the body sensing something had shifted—and settling forward to meet it.
The room was cold. The kind of cold that didn't bite, but made the walls feel thinner. The kind that whispered change was near but didn't demand it.
A kettle still sat on the small side stove, the cloth folded beside it from the night before—creased, tucked, but not pressed.
He didn't touch it.
Instead, he opened the window just slightly, letting in the scent of fog, old smoke, and distant wet stone.
Morning hadn't fully arrived yet, but the air was thick with movement waiting to happen.
> [System Passive Notice: Echo Sync Maintained – Thread Integrity 93%]
No active task. No rewards pending.
State: Tracking Drift Only.
Jun ignored the line.
He wasn't brewing yet.
This moment wasn't about heat or process.
It was about noticing the breath between.
He stretched once. Slowly.
The floor creaked beneath him—a sound he didn't brace against.
