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... he only sound the faint clink of utensils and the low hum of ambient light from the kitchen panels above. The food was hot. Balanced. Perfectly timed for recovery.

Damien's fork moved with easy rhythm. He wasn't rushing. Just eating. Refueling. Every bite tasted sharper than usual—flavor sitting right on the tongue, nerves alive and precise.

'Recovery speed's improving,' he thought, chewing. 'System's pushing harder now. Must be close.'

He glanced across the table.

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