The halls of the archives were silent, save for the faint hum of dormant terminals. Orion Pax lingered longer than he should have, his optics straining against the dimming light as the sun sank low over Iacon. Finally, he stepped outside, datapad clutched loosely in his hand, and stood before the vast glow of the sunset. His thoughts wandered inevitably to Megatronus. He always went to the gladiator’s quarters after work—sometimes to talk, sometimes to sit in shared silence. Sometimes to feel the weight of strong arms pulling him close, or to help mend dented armor while Megatronus teased his scholarly focus. But not tonight. Their last words had been sharp, an argument Orion still replayed. He sighed, head bowed, and turned toward his own lonely quarters, the colors of dusk painting his quiet ache.