She cleared herself. No one else did it. No medic signed off, no one handed her a form or a threshold to hit. She ran her own assessment at 05:30 on the fifth morning, standing in the middle of her room in the dark with her eyes closed, and it came back: functional. Functional was enough. She got dressed and went to the war room.
Sebastian was already there. He looked up when she came through the door—one full look, posture and color and the way a person moves all read at once—then looked back at his work and slid the overnight summary across the table without a word.
She picked it up. Read it standing.
