A week later, the fog didn't just lift; it evaporated. He found himself finishing his work by 4:00 PM, not because he was rushing, but because his mind felt like a sharp blade instead of a rusted one. He didn't feel "wired"—he just felt present.
From the second, he pulled a woody, gnarled root. "Ashwagandha. This is the anchor. It won't give you energy you don't have; it just stops the stress from leaking out the energy you do have."
Elias wasn't a "health nut." He was a tired accountant who had spent the last three weeks surviving on cold coffee and fluorescent light. His sister had practically shoved the shop’s address into his hand, promising that "Old Man Miller" had a cure for the brain fog.
"You look like you're carrying the weight of a dozen spreadsheets," a gravelly voice said from behind a wall of glass jars.