What else, Drift almost says, but no — he’s still processing this, and he sits back in his chair, his optics going distant. He’s reeling and trying not to show it, but it’s been a long damned day and he can’t quite stop himself from putting the heel of his hand to his forehead. So many dead — so few of them left, and without Dai Atlas...

“Star Saber,” Drift mutters, but it almost sounds more like a snarl, disgust seeping into his voice. Drift’s one to talk about turning traitor, he knows — but he’d turned away from senseless killing, not toward it. His hands tighten almost painfully around his sword hilts, as though that’s all that’s keeping him grounded right now. Finally, he looks back at Ratchet.

“I’m sorry about Ambulon,” he says quietly.