Carver huffs as he lies down, curling into himself. "Flattery will not get you out of PT," he murmurs.

He'll feed Bossie up and get him settled, but they need routine, too. PT will continue until the heat death of the universe, as God and the sergeants intended.

But he lies down. He closes his eyes, pulling an arm over his face, and slows his breathing down. It's a restless sleep, but he manages a few hours.

Tomorrow, there'll be more work to do.