headache persisted, like someone was beating my temple with a stick. I, Lin Wan, rubbed my eyes again in the mirror. The face staring back at me was round, with single eyelids and small, sweet-looking eyes. A face so ordinary, it'd blend into the crowd and vanish within seconds. Yet, I suddenly felt like something was... off.

I blinked hard. The face didn't change. But the feeling in my gut? Something was definitely not right. My hand, the one that was always clenching chopsticks and spatulas, suddenly felt lighter. Like it wasn't my hand anymore.

"Okay, Lin Wan," I muttered. "Deep breaths. It was just a weird dream. Or maybe I'm coming down with something."

I turned off the bathroom light and padded down the hall. My apartment was small, cluttered with half-finished recipes and empty spice jars. Usually, I'd grab my laptop and try to wrestle with some cooking theory. But tonight, the thought felt... distant. Absurd, almost.