Chris woke alone, the wide bed cool on Dax's side, the faint imprint of his weight already gone. The palace was quiet in the particular way only functional power was quiet. Somewhere below, assemblies were forming. Dax would already be dressed, doing the work that required him to be seen.
Chris lay still for a moment, cataloguing his body with professional detachment. Sore, yes. Tender in places he would prefer not to think about before breakfast. But functional. The medication from the night before had worn off cleanly, leaving no fog behind, only a dull awareness he could manage.
He sat up slowly, feet touching the floor, grounding himself.
Today was supposed to be practical.
