Drift prided himself on his unwavering discipline and composure, always carrying himself with the utmost respect and control. But even he had his limits.

Sitting on his berth, he exhaled sharply, forcing the tension from his frame. His grip tightened on the fabric beneath him before he let go, dragging a servo down his faceplate as if he could wipe away the weakness threatening to show.

A sudden knock at the door shattered the silence. Instantly, Drift straightened, his expression hardening as he forced his stoic mask back into place. With a deep, steadying breath, he strode toward the door, opening it with measured caution, as if nothing had ever been wrong.