Damien Elford walked with an ease that defied every expectation placed upon him.
He wasn't thin, not yet. His frame was still broad, still heavy—but it no longer seemed to sag under its own weight. Where once his stomach had pushed uncomfortably against the seams of his uniform, now it fit better, still snug but no longer straining. His shoulders, once slouched and rounded, were squared. His posture no longer carried the sluggish burden of someone used to avoiding attention.
And his face—
Gone was the excessive roundness that had made his features blend into one bloated mess. His jawline, though not yet sharp, was beginning to emerge. His cheekbones, once buried beneath layers of excess, were starting to show subtle definition. His skin, no longer damp with the constant sweat of exertion, was clear.
But what struck them most wasn't the weight loss.
It was the way he moved.
No awkward shuffling. No labored steps. No hesitant, uncertain glances toward the ground.
