Electric lights recessed above the airstair of Saint-14's jumpship buzz, punctuated by the occasional plink from a loose ballast. The mechanical din is reminiscent of insects, a subtlety normally lost to the noise of the Tower's Hangar. But the area is quiet at this hour, long before dawn, the absence of activity felt deeper. Lonelier. Saint sits on the steps beneath his ship, a dog-eared journal clasped in his large hands. The bronze eye embossed on the cover marks it as belonging to Osiris. A delicate lock conceals the contents; Saint's thumb teases the corner of the clasp. It would take insignificant effort to break it—a significant violation of Osiris's privacy. Still, the temptation pulls at his fingers. Geppetto, Saint's Ghost, transmats in over his shoulder. "Call for you," she says with a glance down to the journal and then affixes a firm eye of judgment on him. The Titan shrinks away from her stare. "Put it through," Saint says. He welcomes a distraction. "Saint." Mithrax's voice comes loud and clear through Geppetto. "I… did not expect you to answer. It seems we are both unable to find proper rest." "Yes," Saint agrees in a small voice, his attention wavering. "What… was it you needed, Mithrax?" "We have a supply shipment that just came in," Mithrax says with a hint of hope in his voice. "We could use another set of hands." Saint does not immediately reply as he runs one hand over the journal. Geppetto nudges him, and he sighs, setting the journal aside. "I can help," he says. "You point, I lift, right?" His weary laugh is telling. "That's good to hear. Eido has been looking forward to seeing you again," Mithrax says, gently. Saint nods to himself, slowly rising from the steps. Geppetto zips over and transmats the journal back to Saint's home in a crackling stream of light. "Thank you for thinking of me, friend," Saint says over his shoulder. Geppetto looks to him, unsure if his words were directed at her or Mithrax. But then, she realizes: It was both.