The force wants out the door, and a hand inside you says go down first, to the floor where the wanting starts. Pluto squares Mars, the quick reflex grating against a depth that takes its time. Move fast and you suspect you are just running. Dig down and the slow tempo of truth makes you itch. It billed you in fights where you hit with power but no aim, and years of holding back so hard the energy curdled into rumination. The grind taught you to channel force from far below. Action that comes up from the basement shifts what surface effort never could. What you carry now is power with a cause under it.