The Door She Shouldn't Have Knocked On

 
Gaius hadn’t been expecting anyone.

Which is why, when the knock came, he opened the door shirtless, towel slung around his neck, steam still rising off his shoulders from the shower. Hair damp. Eyes half-lidded. A vague look of "What now?" settled across his face.

Lyra Nessel stood there, blinking.

For the briefest moment, both were silent—frozen in the threshold like statues carved from incompatible worlds.

Then:

> “I didn’t realize this was a bad time,” Lyra said, clearing her throat as her eyes darted briefly away. Not quite a laugh. Not quite composed. A flicker of embarrassment passed before she pulled herself back together.

> “You’re early,” Gaius replied, already turning away to grab his coat. "You weren't supposed to be early."

As he threw it over his shoulders, a stack of resonance tablets slid off a crate and crashed to the floor with a surprisingly delicate chime.

Lyra stepped carefully over the mess, peering at the scattered relics like a scholar in a museum gone horribly sideways.

> “Was that critical field data?”

> “Depends on how you look at it.”

> “Right. So... no.”

He shot her a sideways glance. She smiled. For a moment, it was almost warm in the room—despite the flickering light and the faint hum of something pulsing inside the walls.

He gestured toward a chair that didn’t look like it would collapse.

> “Alright then. Since we’re doing this... try not to trip over anything that whispers."

And like that, the air shifted. The comfort of banter lingered, but only barely. Outside, Nexus Prime's skyline flickered with distant neon. Inside, a relic blinked softly from behind a stack of old maps—as if listening.

The Hollow had come home with him.

And Lyra, whether she knew it yet or not, had just walked straight into its echo.