Reason for stopping: end of scene, and my damned hands still hurt.
Perhaps writing some 20,000 words in a seven-day period was a touch unwise. I need to be better about sticking to my word limit. But dammit, I want this book out of my head!
Still, I know what the next few scenes are, and the politics and one of the more buried subplot/mcguffins are starting to come together/make sense.
Trust the book. The book knows where it's going.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee,
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me:
How can I then be elder than thou art?
--William Shakespeare, from Sonnet 22