Hands flat against the surface.
Breathing wrong again already.
This time, Si Hon didn't do anything.
He just sat there.
The classroom existed around him exactly the way it always did at the start of the loop— chalk, phone screens, chairs creaking, thirty plus people who had no idea what was coming— and Si Hon sat in the middle of all of it with his hands flat on the desk and his eyes pointed vaguely forward and absolutely zero intention of participating in any of it.
The exhaustion had settled into something different now.
Not the physical kind from running across rooftops or surviving dragon claws. Something quieter. The kind that came from doing the same thing enough times that your body simply stopped seeing the point of reacting.
The teacher noticed him eventually. Like last time she did.
She called his name twice from the front of the classroom, that particular tone that started professionally patient and curdled fast into something with an edge behind it.
