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quarantineddreamer · 1 year

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Between rewrites and editing this chapter truly turned into a monster, and I’m anxious to hear people’s thoughts on said monster! As usual full chapter is below, or above on AO3. Thanks for reading! 💙

Chapter 8

Cassian was pretty sure that Jyn was planning on ditching him as soon as possible.

He recognized the signs. The jumpiness, the slight note of agitation creeping in her voice now and then–it was exactly how he tended to act after spending too much time on Ferrix, restless and bracing for when it inevitably would all go wrong.

What he couldn’t understand was why she hadn’t already left. Told him “thanks for the ride” and vanished, just as she had done to him six years ago. After all, she had no reason to stay–no attachment or obligation to him or anyone.

And yet to his surprise, she’d followed him into the bar, took a seat across the table from him, and said not a word about her intention to leave. He’d watched with amusement while she consumed an entire plate of food as though she were a sarlacc, and now, as he picked at the meal still in front of him–too distracted to eat–she was surveying the room, drink balanced in her hand.

Normally he would be doing the same, watchful, alert, but in that moment everything else seemed to be slipping away, becoming a blur in comparison to the sight of her–wearing his shirt and the coat she’d ‘borrowed’ from him the night they’d first met–hair disheveled from the rain on Morlana One, cheeks turning pink from the liquor in her glass…

“Is there something on my face?”

Cassian nearly choked on the swallow of his drink he’d just taken. “What?” he coughed.

Jyn turned to him, “You’re staring at me.”

“Um,” he scrambled for something to say as she regarded him over the edge of her glass, taking a long, unbothered sip. “I was just…”

He trailed off, noting that Jyn’s attention had suddenly shot to the entrance of the bar–intent on a group of workers’ who had just entered, their uniforms bearing small, but distinct patches of the Imperial crest. It was likely they were employed by one of the Empire’s manufacturing factories on Famu. The notion didn’t exactly bring a smile to Cassian’s face, but it also wasn’t alarming. They wouldn’t be looking to pick a fight the way the corps on Morlana One had.

But for some reason, Jyn continued to fixate on them, watching the group out of the corner of her eyes as they made their way to the counter and began to order a drink from the bartender, her posture unnaturally stiff, color rapidly draining from her face.

“Jyn,” Cassian murmured. “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t respond, there was a look in her eyes he couldn’t fully read. Hurt, anger, and–was it fear he was seeing? (He’d been beginning to think she’d developed an immunity to the feeling.)

He watched carefully as she lowered her glass to the table, fingertips bone white as they pressed into the glass, smearing the beads of condensation that had collected on its sides.

“Jyn,” he tried again, but she was far away, beyond the reach of his voice.

He glanced over his shoulder to where the workers were weaving their way through the clusters of other customers–headed for an open table with drinks in hand and relaxed, easy postures.

Nothing seemed amiss, and yet, Jyn was staring after them–no, one of them in particular–with the same haunted and wild look she’d possessed when she’d woken in a panic on Ferrix and seized hold of his wrist. It brought a strange tightness to his chest. There was something so heartrending about it.

He remembered the determined glint of steel in her eyes as she stared down the Imperial officer on Rix Road. Remembered the steady hand that had leveled Clem’s blaster at him split seconds after saving his life from the Pre-Mor corps.

This was a woman who did not hesitate, who moved through the world with the certainty and grace of a warrior.

Only now, she faltered–tensed every muscle in her body as though to prepare for an agonizing blow.

He didn’t know what had caused her to transform so abruptly. Whatever it was, it had to be pretty bad to have had such a disturbing effect on someone as strong and brave as Jyn was. But he found any curiosity he might have felt was far outweighed by the urge to try and bring her back from whatever awful edge she’d been dragged to.

He slowly reached for her hand, loosened her fingers one by one from her vice-like grip on the glass, and held it firmly with his own. Though her palm was cool and damp against his skin, the touch lit sparks on his wrist and a rush of warmth flashed through him. “Jyn…” he breathed. “Hey…” The same protective instinct–the want to comfort and calm her–was still there, just the same as it had been that night on Ferrix, You’re okay –it’s okay.

Jyn blinked, her trance finally breaking, and let loose a shaky breath.

“What’s wrong?” Cassian repeated, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

The gesture seemed to finally ground her, because she looked up at him as though surprised to find him there. “Sorry, just…” Her fingers twitched between his palms. “Too much to drink,” she said in a tight voice, her eyes falling to their hands and abruptly pulling her own away.

They both knew it wasn’t the liquor, but he wasn’t about to push her on it. He placed his hands on his knees, unsure what to do with them now that she’d taken hers back and waited to see if she would say more.

Jyn’s gaze flicked to the workers again, then down to the bottom of her drink, contemplating the glass like it was an abyss that might swallow her whole.

Cassian knew that whatever was bothering her, it wasn’t his problem–something he normally wouldn’t bother with–but he found it almost painful to see her so upset. He wanted to help, he just wasn’t sure how. After all, Jyn was a stranger.

The expression on her face however, was one he knew well, that of a mind in turmoil, walls closing in… “You sure you’re okay?” he asked quietly.

For a moment, she stared at him, and he thought he saw something reaching in her gaze–thought that she might be about to put some trust in him after all… Then her eyes found the same worker again–a human man, tall, pale blonde, his back turned to them–and her teeth flashed across her bottom lip. “I’m just ready to get out of here,” she muttered distractedly.

Avoiding his stare, she rose from the table swiftly, threw her scarf over her head to hide her face, and made for the door without so much as a glance behind.

It surprised Cassian, not that she was running again (he’d been preparing for that eventuality from the start), but that when he searched his mind for what to do next, he could think of no other choice but to follow.

Jyn had no way of knowing for sure if it was her former comrade Harrik she had seen in the bar. No way of knowing if he, or any of the rest of the members in Saw’s cadre had found out the truth of her identity when Cen, Doma, and Grax had returned from Ferrix, or if Saw had somehow managed to convince them to keep things secret.

All she had were assumptions, faint scenes that had played out in her head a million times in a million different ways in the years following her abandonment.

The man had certainly looked like Harrik though; someone she had once fought alongside, called an ally. A phantom of the past, all grown up and returned to haunt her. If it was him, and if the news of who she truly was had been spread throughout the Partisans…

Then Famu had just turned into the last place she could possibly want to be.

Erso. Try as she might to escape it, the ghost of her past could not be outrun. It was within her. In her mind, in her blood, even–try as she might to deny it–in her heart. And yet, for something that was so much a part of her, its ability to rattle her had never abated, not once, in the years since she had last claimed it.

Jyn Erso. Daughter of a monster. What could that make her but a monster too?

She slowed her gait and tilted her head back, a sea breeze dancing along her cheeks, the scent of salt tickling her nose.

The stars were out. How many times had she laid in the cold, dew-covered grass of Lah’mu with the monster beside her–making her giggle as he pointed out constellations and made up new ones? Stardust, he’d called her, and she hadn’t considered him a monster back then…

Jyn closed her eyes, and just for a moment imagined herself living in that blissful world of innocence once more. Any moment now, Mama would be calling them inside for warm drinks before bed… Jyn’s hand reached for the comfort of the kyber at her chest.

When she opened her eyes again, it was to the sight of Cassian quietly studying her from a distance.

In her rush to leave the bar, she had neglected to say anything to him. Not ‘don’t follow me’ or ‘good-bye’ or anything of that kind. If she had been thinking clearly she knew she would have. Yet now, she found herself oddly relieved at the sight of him, quickly turning away when he realized he’d been caught staring.

She hadn’t expected it–hadn’t expected him, still by her side–and she wasn't sure what to do with the odd skip her heart gave at the sentiment, the way her fingers twitched at the memory of his touch. She shoved her hands in her pockets to contain her sudden restlessness and wandered towards where Cassian was standing, looking out at the ocean whose shoreline ran parallel to the empty stretch of street they strolled.

She came to a halt beside him, grateful that the soothing wash of the waves and the wind would be there to cover the tense quiet between them.

Except, the tension never came. Instead, there was an unusual quality to the silence that took her a moment to place. Not awkwardness, but rather the lack of it. Somehow, Cassian’s face carried none of the judgment she had anticipated she would find there–no injured pride or demand for answers. He seemed to not only recognize, but also respect her need for space and quiet.

Jyn felt the tightness leave her shoulders, that hard-earned instinct to defend slowly slipping away. For once, she didn’t think she needed it.

A shiver ran across her arm as she glanced at him again; caught the movement of his hair as it was lifted by the wind. “It’s pretty here,” she found herself murmuring, because she really didn’t have anything else of significance to say, just felt the sudden urge to hear another’s voice. (Though there was a part of her that knew it was not just any voice she wanted, but his.)

“It is,” Cassian agreed, gaze still fixed on the horizon where Famu’s pale blue moon lay amongst the waves. “Feeling a little better?”

She might have dismissed him, sniped, ‘What are you talking about?’ But she didn’t. He would have known it was a lie, and in any case, the truth was, her father still weighed heavily on her mind. Although, the thought of him or Saw or Harrik–of anyone from her past–seemed to be growing more and more distant with each passing second.

The panic she had felt upon seeing Harrik’s twin was dissipating like a bad dream in the light of morning. Her pulse had steaded and she could feel herself in her own body again–was aware of her breathing and the feel of her fingers curled in the pilled lining of her coat pockets.

With that awareness, came a tidal wave of exhaustion.

“I need to find somewhere to sleep tonight,” she sighed.

He turned to her, and she noticed for the first time the dark shadows that had formed under his eyes, indicating his own weariness. “We could go back to the ship…”

Her mind lingered unknowingly on the novelty of his suggestion, ‘We’ could…

But the edges of the scarf she wore whispered gently against her cheek in reminder, and she became acutely aware of the squeeze at her ankles where extra fabric bunched in her boots at the end of each too-long pant leg. Borrowed garments. Garments that had come from the same ship Cassian had just mentioned, once belonging to faceless women who, no doubt, had also gone ‘back to the ship’ with him one night.

He didn’t appear to be suggesting anything–at least, his expression gave no hint of it–but a warmth was beginning to flood Jyn’s body all the same, and she wasn’t about to put herself in a situation where attraction might tempt her to deviate from her plan.

Because she was meant to be splitting from him–and soon.

(Already, if she were to be truly honest with herself.)

“I’m going to find a boarding house,” Jyn mumbled, forcing her gaze away from him. “Or a hotel. I don’t know. Something.”

And if he came with her? Then so be it, she told herself. She was much too tired to argue anyways. They’d sleep in separate rooms and she’d sneak out come morning and leave things at that, as she’d always intended to. Easy.

She turned her back to the beach–refusing to acknowledge the vague sense of contentment that flashed through her when Cassian did the same.

Together they began to wind their way back into the city proper, the same comfortable silence from before settling over them.

The local haunts were beginning to empty out, stragglers trickling out from the businesses and making their way home, echoes of good-natured banter and lazy singing ringing off the sides of buildings and into the night air. It had been awhile since Jyn had been on a planet with lax enough regulations to allow for this sort of behavior and she watched the activity with faint amusement.

She observed Cassian pensively studying Famu’s nightlife too. “Not something you’d see everyday on Ferrix?” she guessed.

He shook his head wistfully. “No. Not anymore anyways…” his voice trailed off.

But she knew what he was alluding to. Famu was clearly cooperating with the Empire, which in turn was allowing the people of the planet certain freedoms and luxuries. At least, for now, there was an agreement with the Empire here.

It had probably been built on the basis of some (either naive or corrupt) politician’s faith in the Imperial definition of a ‘fair trade’. But one day, probably sooner than anyone here wanted, someone would look around and realize just how tight the Empire’s grasp had gotten while they were going about their business–doing the work they thought was in service to their planet and themselves. Already, they were living under Imperial rule in all but name, whether they knew it or not.

It may have been a pretty picture compared to the cold and desolate landscape of Ferrix, but it was the same story as always. The Imps would take more than they gave.

The difference was only a matter of time. A matter of some resentful workers someday finding the courage to seek revenge–or someone like Saw Gerrera stepping in to ‘free’ the planet. And then?

Jyn felt a twinge of guilt once more for her actions on Ferrix. Saw had–she had–taken the choice away from Cassian and the rest of the residents there. They had struck out at the Empire on their behalf–never considering the repercussions of this attack, always assuming it had to be what the people wanted–and once done, there had been no taking it back, no chance to resume the strange false freedom in which planets like Famu were still living.

She would never truly know, nor would Cassian, what could have been for Ferrix, how much longer their relative freedom might have lasted without her intervention. It was hard not to wonder at the difference it might have made in Cassian’s life. Maybe he would have avoided Morlana One altogether, never ended up on the wrong side of a blaster in that dark, rain-soaked alley…

“Jyn,” Cassian’s voice broke into her thoughts. “That look on your face…let it go.”

She snorted at the absurdity of it, that the man would dare to say something as familiar as ‘that look’ as though he had known her for years (and yet somehow, she let him get away with it.)

“What are you talking about?”

“Ferrix. It’s the same expression you had when we talked about it on the ship.”

Jyn sputtered internally for a moment. When she finally did find her words, they were unexpected, a thought she hadn’t realized was there to begin with, pulled from a place deep inside her, emerging like an echo from a cave, “Do you…Do you hate me for it?”

His brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “For…Ferrix?”

“For what became of it. How it changed after that night with the garrison.” She found herself watching him intently, waiting for his face to shift into a look of resentment–because this was who she was; a disrupter, a curse, wrecking havoc by nature regardless of her best intentions. Couldn’t he see that?

Cassian stopped abruptly, caught her elbow until she turned to face him. He deliberated for a moment before raising his eyes to hers again, his gaze imploring her–for what she wasn’t sure yet. “What’s happened to Ferrix isn’t my first time seeing the result of Imperial occupation. There was…somewhere else. Before.”

‘My birth parents are gone,’ he’d told her, yet somehow Jyn had failed to consider the obvious implication behind a statement such as that until now. Before she had even been to Ferrix, before she had so much as touched a brick on the garrison walls, before she had crashed into his life like some sudden storm, Cassian had known losses like her own. Loss of family, loss of home.

She thought of Lah’mu. The one she had known, and the one she had fled from. In her mind they were two different places, because it was impossible for her to hold someplace so peaceful and happy beside such horror without feeling irrevocably lost. Violence transformed a landscape, shaped it into something else entirely, something ugly and unrecognizable.

Jyn searched Cassian’s eyes and for one aching moment they reminded her of black sandy shores, of feeling grounded, safe–of belonging.

She wondered what that feeling had looked like for Cassian, before his version of ‘the man in white’ had arrived to rip it all away.

“I know what it’s like, to be swept up, not in control,” Cassian said quietly. His hand was still on her arm, fingers lightly squeezing as though to emphasize his words. “You do what it takes to survive.”

“And after?” she spoke softly, but her voice shook all the same, strained by flashes of memory passing through her mind. Her father’s face as the blaster was fired, her mother in the grass. Running, the kyber crystal bouncing against her chest with each step…Saw appearing above the bunker hatch; Saw ordering the others to leave her behind….

Cassian’s eyes were a mirror, reflecting her own pain back at her. “I think we all have ghosts, some more than others…”

Jyn nodded in agreement, thinking back to the bar–the frantic stutter of her heart. You have no idea.

Abruptly, Cassian’s hand dropped from her arm and grabbed hold of her fingers.

“What the kark are you–” she tried to tug herself free.

“Shh.” His fingers still wrapped around hers, he stepped forward, pulling her after him. “Come on,” he insisted, tone low, but urgent.

Grudgingly she complied, hissing, “You have about a minute to explain what’s going on before I attempt to break that pretty nose of yours.”

“Pretty?” Cassian asked with a slight smirk.

(It was, admittedly, a nice nose, but...) “Not the kriffing point, Andor,” Jyn replied, overly sweet and flexing her fingers pointedly against the back of his hand. “You were saying?”

His expression had turned serious, though he maintained a casual pace forward. To anyone else, they were simply a couple out on a romantic, nighttime stroll, walking hand in hand.

“I thought I saw a pair of workers staring at us,” Cassian explained, with a barely perceptible frown. “Now I know they were, because they’re following us…”

“Where?” Jyn asked, hair on the back of her neck rising in cold, numbing dread.

“Across the street, just a few paces behind us, about to pass under that green awning.”

She caught sight of the workers and her stomach began to writhe itself into hard knots. Shit.

Members of Saw’s cadre were indeed on Famu–and not just any members. Cen was here, long, black hair perched in a neat bun at the top of her head, blue skin in stark contrast to the light gray of the worker’s uniform she wore, and the same fury as before burning in her eyes. Beside her, walked Harrik, looking bored and somewhat irritated.

Whether they actually knew it was her they were following or simply suspected–as she had evidently correctly suspected the man in the bar might be Harrik–it was hard to tell, but they were clearly determined to find out.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched them cross the street and fall into step some distance behind her and Cassian. They’d close that distance, slowly, so they wouldn’t draw attention–and then they’d have a blaster to her back as soon as possible.

Cen would want to finish what she had probably assumed was said and done on Ferrix–and this time she’d make sure to watch the light leave Jyn’s eyes.

There were no crowds to slip into this time of night. All the doors to the stores would be locked, and picking a lock would both take too long and almost certainly confirm her identity to Cen and Harrik.

What had she thought as they were preparing to land? Famu might actually be a nice place to disappear to? She should have known better. How quickly the galaxy had turned its back on her yet again; beautiful, serene Famu turned to a living hell designed just for her.

“They’re getting closer,” Cassian noted, glancing at their reflections passing through the storefront windows.

“Yes,” Jyn said tightly. “They are.” What the kark am I going to do? And Cassian…she glanced down at their adjoined hands. He was going to get swept up in this shitstorm too.

“You should go,” she murmured, and attempted to detangle their fingers.

The damn idiot only held tighter.

“Cassian,” Jyn hissed. “Trust me. Get out of here.”

He stepped to the left, sliding gracefully into a gap between buildings, and tugged her in after him.

It was a narrow alley, just barely wide enough to fit two people. Cassian’s chest was against hers, their bodies pressed so tightly together that she felt certain he must be able to feel the hammering of her heart against him.

She caught the distinctive crack of Harrik’s voice, “I don’t know, Cen…”

“Shut up, Harrik. And hurry up, she’s probably about to bolt.”

The shuffle of footsteps grew faster and closer and Jyn watched the street, holding her breath, her free hand hovering over her holster, certain that any minute now the streets of Famu were about to erupt with the screeches of blasterfire.

Slowly, Cassian brought her hand–still holding his–up to the back of his neck and let go, settling her palm against soft hair and warm skin.

She turned back to him. What are you– but the closeness of his face to her own made the words catch in her throat.

“Trust me?” he asked, voice barely more than an exhale.

His eyes held that same warmth and earnestness she remembered from when she’d woken all alone in a stranger’s home, injured, frightened…

She gave a small nod. Okay.

Cassian bent towards her, and for a second, Jyn thought he was about to kiss her, but instead, their cheeks brushed as his mouth found the side of her neck, just behind her ears–his hands working simultaneously to wind under her jacket and onto her lower back.

She played along, fingers curling in his hair as he wandered across her jaw, tilting her face into the touch, angling her body so that he served as a shield, blocking her from view.

It shouldn’t have been this way, but she found her fear quickly forgotten as her mind became a dizzying meld of senses all fighting for dominance. She could hear his breathing, a bit ragged and broken, drifting hot in her ear as he brushed her hair aside with his nose and returned his lips to the column of her neck, moving upwards with a pressure so fine it sent shivers through her. The front of his jacket smelled like rain and blaster oil. Somehow–she wasn’t sure when–her other hand had found the front of his chest and vibrating beneath her palm was an exhilarating rhythm.

Over the rush of blood singing through her ears, Jyn heard Harrik snort, “What was that you said about ‘bolting?’ These two don’t seem to be in a hurry to go anywhere… You can’t seriously think it’s her now, can you?”

Jyn gave a theatrical gasp for good measure and followed it up with a low moan, lifting her leg to wrap tightly around Cassian’s upper thigh as though the show were just getting started.

Cen gave a derisive huff. “I had to make sure…”

“If someone had tried that shit with her she’d have kneed them in the…” their voices were growing fainter.

After a moment, Cassian pulled away slightly and paused, his beard tickling her skin, breath hot against her throat.

Jyn caught herself still holding tight to him and loosened her grip, her leg gradually sliding back towards the ground. “I think…I think they’re gone,” she said, hating herself a bit for how breathless she sounded.

“Okay,” Cassian said and straightened. Was it her imagination or was he panting slightly? “That’s, uh…” He briefly glanced down at her, face faintly flushed. “That’s good.”

They removed their hands from one another: him letting his hands fall from her back, her the back of his neck. She took a hard swallow and a big breath before making a second attempt at speech. “Um, thank you,” she finally said. “For um,” she tilted her head towards the street where Cen and Harrik had passed. “You know. That.”

“I don’t know actually,” he pointed out, as he began to make his way out of the alley. “But you’re welcome–even if you don’t tell me what that was.”

She searched for a suitable explanation as she followed him back onto the street. “That…” she paused and gave a soft, wry laugh.

Cassian raised an eyebrow at her, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards into the beginnings of a smile.

“That,” Jyn said, shaking her head at the Force’s horrible sense of humor, “was one of my ‘ghosts’.”

Silvana clenched the end of a roll of bandages between her teeth, grimacing as she wound the material tightly around an ugly cut at the top of her shoulder. Not for the first time that day, she cursed herself for the foolish mistake that had led her here. You should know better. You were taught better, she thought darkly as she checked her progress in the ship’s cloudy mirror.

It wasn’t like the mission had been a hard one. On the contrary, it should have been a reprieve from the chaos she was used to contending with. A simple check-in with one of her sources, that was all.

Even the tail she’d picked up on her way back to the ship shouldn’t have been a problem, nothing she couldn’t handle, but one slip-up, a single moment of distraction, and she had given her enemy all the time they needed to swoop in.

She’d gotten lucky. The knife had just missed her neck and the wound was not a deep one. She would have preferred to treat the injury with bacta, but at least it looked worse than it felt. Already the bleeding was abating, the blood slow and thick as it trailed its way down her arm.

When she was satisfied the bandage would hold, she tore the rest of the roll free and tied the end into as tidy a knot as she could manage at the angle she was forced to contend with.

“Fulcrum,” the demanding crackle of the comm carried from the cockpit of the vessel to the small cabin.

Shit. She was meant to have checked in over an hour ago–around the time she had locked her would-be killer in a chokehold and watched as the knife stained with her blood clattered to the ground from his limp hand. He wasn’t going to be happy with her for missing it.

(Not that he was ever happy.)

“Fulcrum,” the voice called again, less patient this time.

Silvana made it to the cockpit before he could ring a third time. “I’m here,” she murmured into the comm, fighting to keep any signs of exhaustion from her voice.

“You’re late,” Luthen commented gruffly.

“I know. There was a slight delay,” she said, in place of any apology.

“How did the delivery go? Was the client content with their purchase?”

Silvana recalled the fine, silk shirt she’d left pooled on the fresher floor, stained and torn. It seemed as good a summary as any of just how well her day had gone. But Luthen didn’t need to know about that–and neither did Kleya who, no doubt, was listening over his shoulder prepared to gloat at a detail such as this. (Somehow the woman always returned from her missions without so much as a wrinkle in her disguise; unfortunately, Silvana could not say she operated with quite the same grace.)

“Well?” Luthen prompted.

“They tried to haggle. I talked them down.”

The silence that followed dragged exponentially, each passing second seeming longer than the last. She could picture her mentor on the other end of the comm, his hands spread on the backroom table of the antique shop, probably staring down at the readout signal with a scowl on his face, trying to figure out how best to reprimand her without breaking from code.

In the end, he must have given up, because he simply asked, in a voice something like a weary sigh, “But it’s done?”

“It’s done,” she promised. “I’ll be back in…” she glanced at the map display, “I don’t know. A little less than a day.”

“There’s been a change of plans. I need you to make a stop on your way back.”

Silvana’s fingers tightened on the comm. Luthen did not often deviate from his original plans if he could help it. Whatever he was about to ask, it had to be something significant. Fighting the apprehension rising to claw at her throat, she said, “Think I lost you for a moment. Come again?”

As she waited for him to repeat his command, goosebumps began to rise on her bare arms. She wished she’d grabbed a layer to throw on over her tank top before answering the comm. It wasn’t the temperature causing her flesh to crawl, but it might have made a difference all the same; she always had liked the comfort of a thick sweater, the assurance of a heavy coat. Simple luxuries to some, yet even after all the years she had spent in Luthen’s care, she never took them for granted. There was something to the weight of them, reminding her distantly of cold nights, hands carefully placing a blanket over her, its presence–and his–steadfast and calming, the act itself seemingly a vow of protection from all her troubles.

The return of Luthen’s voice quickly sent the faint memories to smoke, “A client reached out. I need you to do a pickup. It’s on your way back.”

Silvana placed an arm up the wall and leaned in so that her head nearly touched the comm center. “Where?” she asked in a flat voice, staring at her feet. She’d been given fancy boots for the mission to go with the silk shirt, shined to the point that she could see her reflection gleaming back at her. A fresh scuff mark obscured her face.

“Famu.”

She allowed herself a deep breath before replying, “Okay. Transmit the details to me.”

“Transmitting now.” There was a slight pause, then, “Fulcrum?”

“Yes?”

“What happened today?” he asked, voice unusually gentle. “With the delivery?”

Luthen had always been a tough teacher. She was his protege–trained right alongside Kleya– and he had been relentless in his pursuit to harden her, shape her into the spy the Rebellion needed.

But he had also been her caretaker. Taken her in when she was young and alone with nowhere to turn to. When she was old enough, he had given her the choice, fight or leave and go live her life in whatever scraps of peace remained in the galaxy. Except, it had never really been a choice; he had to have known that, after all he had given her—all the knowledge and skills she had been armed with thanks to him. How else could she possibly have repaid him?

She had often wondered about Luthen's true reason for taking her and Kleya in. Orphans of the galaxy, but of course, they were two of many. There were times she thought maybe he looked at them and saw someone else, someone lost…

She also thought sometimes she might be a disappointment to him, because she didn’t possess the same level of fortitude that Kleya had for their work. Yet beneath the sharpness of his gaze there could also be a surprising amount of affection, and she sensed it again, now, in his tone.

“Like I said. Just a minor setback,” she told him. “I’ll be okay.”

“You’re certain?”

Silvana recalled the pulse of the music drifting from the open doors behind her giving way to the drumming of rain against her hood. Her feet splashing into puddles on the stairs as she climbed. Catching the reflection of the man following her in the glass of one of the windows she passed.

It had been awhile since her last visit, but she hadn’t forgotten the backstreets Luthen had instructed her to memorize in case of this exact situation, and she had been confident as she navigated her way, twisting and turning, always mindful not to give herself away, not to let the stalker know she was aware he was pursuing her.

Then she’d heard it, blasting out of a speaker and crashing into the street with all the force of an explosion. “Kenari.”

It stopped her in her tracks, her ears ringing, heart pounding.

She still wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it. It had only been a split second, hardly enough time for a full breath, and the rest of the announcement had been lost to the frantic panting and desperate grunts of her skirmish with her assailant and his blasted knife.

“It won’t happen again,” Silvana said, straightening, and she meant it. No more being caught off guard by dimwitted fantasies. All it would do was hurt.

A light flashed on the dashboard of the cockpit, signaling a transmission received.

“I’ve sent the information to you for the pickup on Famu…” Luthen said. Whether he was satisfied with her answers or not, she couldn’t tell through garbled words on a comm speaker.

“I’ve got it,” she confirmed.

“Be careful. This shipment is…a fragile one.”

Something, someone significant for sure then. Silvana ran a hand through her long, black hair, fingers catching on waves tangled from the rain. “Sure thing,” she murmured, her mind already racing, eyes twitching towards that flashing light on the dashboard, red and urgent.

Once Luthen had disconnected, she set the comm back and turned to sink into the pilot’s seat. For a moment, she hesitated, finger hovering over the button that would display the transmission. She thought about waiting, allowing herself a rinse in the fresher and some clean clothes, a meal, before facing whatever came next, but in the end, she knew time would make no difference. Her fingertip taped the button, and the bulletin flashed to life before her.

Kenari male, it read, wanted for questioning.

And beneath it.

A photo.

She could barely see the man captured in the grainy image; felt certain she didn’t know him. But she recognized the slant of his cheekbones like she would her own reflection.

And the longer she stared, the more she began to think, maybe, just maybe, she knew the boy from whom this stranger had grown.

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