The pain hasn't come back yet. Stephen knows he should worry about that--not because he's ever heard of a death price that doesn't end, but because the journey they're about to undertake will be all the more dangerous if he's unable to tell whether he's injured. He's debated whether to tell Doctor Watson; he could use the help monitoring his own condition, but he suspects it might lead to an argument over whether he ought to be doing this at all.

The initial euphoria has worn off, his brain no longer mistaking the lack of the pain with which he normally lives for some kind of chemical high. That worries him more; if his body and mind accept this as his new normal it will be all the worse when it comes back. He feels more clearheaded than he has in months, and it leaves him with a burning desire to make the most of it while he's able. While he's fully himself again.

For now, though, he must wait. He rattles around the darkened house, feeling the emptiness of it keenly as he rifles through cabinets in search of anything that might have been left here by a previous traveler. The entire town is dying in a way he didn't know a place could die. He's running a hand over the words "Hsiaoke Pass," a distant look in his eyes, when he hears the front door open.

"Doctor Watson?" he calls, perhaps needlessly. His tablet illuminates his silhouette and the wall near him, called into service as a flashlight. "Back here!"