Cruzer didn't sleep much that night.
Even when he closed his eyes, his mind refused to settle. The fight. The void. The stranger. Each thought clawed at him, forcing him to relive the battle over and over, dissecting every exchange, every flicker of power, every choice he had made. Had he been too slow? Had he hesitated?
But more than anything—the words lingered.
"You are incomplete."
Not an insult. Not a taunt.
A statement of fact.
Cruzer exhaled sharply, pushing himself up from the bed before the sun had even fully risen. He didn't feel exhausted, even though he should have. His body was fine, but his mind—it wouldn't stop racing.
There was no point in forcing himself to rest.
Instead, he got up, got dressed, and walked.
