The sun began to push its first real light across the village, warming roofs and packed paths, drawing the place out of sleep in stages. Farmers gathered tools. Vendors unlatched shutters and arranged their stalls. Somewhere a rooster insisted on being heard. Among the guest houses, the alphas assigned to fieldwork started to surface as well—some more willingly than others.
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Qin Yuran yawned hard enough that her eyes watered. She bent over the basin and cupped cold water to her face. The shock of it did its job: sleep loosened its hold in increments, the last of the night's blur rinsing away under her palms. She patted her skin dry with a soft towel, checked her phone, and grimaced at the numbers.
"It's so early," she murmured.
