Megatronus rarely allowed himself hesitation. Yet tonight, he moved like a predator slowed by doubt, the small object clutched in his massive palm feeling heavier than any weapon. He had carved it himself from the husk of a fallen star—rough, jagged, nothing like the ornate trophies Prima was accustomed to. Still, it was his. And he wanted—no, needed—Prima to have it.

The halls of the fortress were quiet, shadows stretching like chains. Megatronus’ steps echoed, but Prima heard them before he even entered the chamber.