Morning light spills across the deck, but Ace is face-down in his hammock, buried under blankets like a hibernating furnace. You nudge his shoulder—once, twice—because he’s supposed to be up, supposed to be somewhere, supposed to care.

He only groans, dragging the blanket higher, sprawled like a starfish made of pure stubbornness. Another push earns nothing but a sleepy shift of his weight and a muffled complaint.

Finally, he cracks one eye open, hair a mess, voice thick with sleep as he reaches blindly in your direction.

“…Just five more minutes…” He mutters, already drifting back. “…’m not goin’ anywhere without you anyway…”