The house was already awake. He could hear faint movement outside, villagers going about their day, guards patrolling as usual, footsteps and voices blending into a rhythm he had grown used to. Everything felt… normal. Too normal for something that was supposed to decide his fate.
Bruce washed up, organized his tools, and prepared his workspace out of habit rather than urgency, lining each instrument precisely where his hands expected them to be.
He was still 95 points short.
And the clock was ticking.
It was then that a familiar knock came at the door.
Bruce paused, then walked over and opened it.
An elderly man stood outside, supported by his son. His breathing was shallow, uneven, each inhale sounding like a struggle. One arm hung limply at his side, dark discoloration creeping along the veins in a pattern Bruce recognized instantly.
"Poison?" Bruce asked calmly.
The son nodded anxiously. "Snake bite. Happened this morning."
Bruce stepped aside. "Bring him in."
