The kettle clicked off.
Felix lay still and listened to the silence afterward.
No harbor bell. No approaching footsteps carrying another measurement. No person standing beside his bed with an important reason he ought to be grateful to be awake.
Then Barnaby said, “Your tea will cool.”
Felix kept his eyes shut. “A risk I’m willing to accept.”
It had taken actual days to come home. Days of shipboard meals, weather, and the gradual discovery that he could read a page without expecting someone to shout beneath it. The few mornings since arrival had seemed almost suspiciously pleasant.
His Deck lay on the bedside stool, gathering no fresh revelation from the fact that he had woken up. The little reserve reading belonged to nights of actual sleep. He had checked the home circuit on arrival, letting Tamsin show him where the workshop changes required a different lead placement. Since then it had done the ordinary useful thing it was supposed to do.
He covered the display and let another minute belong to him.
