Physio sessions with Mia dragged on endlessly fruitless—my legs remained lifeless dead weight under the gym mats, no twitch, no spark, no hint of strength returning despite weeks of strained exercises.
The resistance bands snapping tight against atrophied muscles, and electric stim pads buzzing futile against numb skin that prickled but never fired.
Morale sank deeper daily, a suffocating fog I couldn't wheel away from; without my alphas' scents anchoring me like lifelines—Hellen's honey-citrus comfort soothing my whines with murmured praises, Ivory's chili blaze igniting faint defiant hope amid frustration, Reyes' cedar-steel resolve steadying my shakes with quiet 'you got this'—I'd have crumbled completely, lost to the void of helplessness.
