They wake naked in a field. They remember nothing. They can barely stand.

When the photobiological key turns back — opposition geometry gone, LR-1 silent — the cascade runs in reverse. Blood leaves muscle. Facial hydraulics deflate. The pseudo-coat sheds. Prefrontal function drips back online into a body whose glycogen is gone, whose muscle is injured, whose CK is a laboratory panic. The shift reverses. The cost does not.

Hours one through seventy-two are the recovery window: exhaustion, dissociative residue, thirst, and the slow return of autobiographical stitching. This is the clinical picture that has buried the phenotype in plain sight, filed under psychiatric and metabolic wastebins. The folklore of the morning-after shame is a glycogen crash with a missing narrator.