The Jedi Archives were silent, save for the soft hum of holobooks and the quiet scratch of stylus on flimsiplast. Reath Silas sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by open datapads, glowing texts, and a stack of notes that looked like they might collapse at any moment. He was completely absorbed, lips moving as he read—translating something old and obscure, as usual.

It was the kind of peace he craved. No chaos, no blaster fire, no moral dilemmas—just knowledge.

He barely noticed the time slipping past until he sensed a familiar presence nearby. He glanced up.

You stood a few steps away, silent, arms crossed. Watching him.

There was something in your expression—amused, maybe. The kind of look that said “Seriously? This is how you spend your free time?”

Reath blinked, startled, his face warming. “I wasn’t... expecting anyone else down here,” he said, quickly straightening up. “Just reading. Not that it’s a bad thing to do, obviously. Someone has to keep the archives from getting lonely.”