Chapter Text
Chatter, loud and exuberant, filled the air, overlapping unpleasantly as the smuggling crew celebrated their hard-won spoils. Korin didn’t absorb any of it, instead gritting her teeth through the pulsing pressure of her headache, exacerbated by the overly loud voices of people whose names she could barely remember. In her darkened corner of the passenger hold, she went more or less unnoticed, save for the occasional pointed glances of their leader, bulbous blue eyes narrowed slightly as though he could see her face even through the cloth of her mask and the heavy shadow of her hood. These went unanswered on her part; she’d rather deal with him after they landed, so she could leave as soon as she’d gotten paid. Getting yelled at when she had nowhere to escape was the last thing she wanted right now.
The ship shuddered like a frightened animal as it broke through the atmosphere, landing shortly after with a quiet bump. Korin stood smoothly, dodging around the distracted crew and heading toward the door. It hissed open at her touch, and she hardly waited for the ramp to finish extending before stalking down, her metal foot clunking down slightly louder than her left. At the bottom, she stopped and stepped aside, half in the shadow of the ship. She waited impatiently, every breath making her long ever more for the solitude that would allow her to remove the warm mask. She very deliberately cut off that line of thought before it could go any further.
Heavy boots thunked down the ramp behind her. Korin whirled around just in time to catch a small sack of something lobbed at her chest. It clinked quietly in her hands. “Here,” Burrl grunted. “Your cut.”
Just by the weight of it, she could tell it was barely half of what she expected. Brow furrowing, she held out the bag pointedly.
Burrl snorted. “You want more? You’re lucky you’re getting that much.”
Clearing her throat, Korin rasped, “We agreed 1500.”
“Sure, but that was before you nearly blew it.” Burrl stepped closer and poked her chestplate hard with a stubby green finger. “You left that guard alive and put my men at risk. I had to step in and clean up your mess. The only reason you’re getting anything at all is that your screw up didn’t cost us any loot.”
Taking a slow breath to quell the frustration burning in her chest, Korin clenched her fists, resisting the urge to slap Burrl’s hand away. He was right, after all. She’d stunned that guard rather than killing him. And when he woke up earlier than expected, she was too busy slicing into the nearby console to notice, so he got a nice, long look at the crew stealing crates of ammunition from right under his nose. Long enough that he’d managed to get a shot off before Burrl put a bolt between his eyes. It was luck alone that ensured none of the team had gotten hurt. Still…
“Told you, I don’t-”
“Kill, yeah, I know, and I told you I respect that as long as it doesn’t interfere with my business,” Burrl interrupted. “Problem is, it interfered with my business. Suppose that’s the issue with hirin’ loners like you with no reputation: you can never be sure of the quality.”
Burrl gestured to the sack of credits in her hand. “Now, I’ve got shit to unload. You gonna take that and be grateful, or are we gonna have a problem?”
It wouldn’t be enough. She had to buy food; she was running on fumes as it was. Paying for her spot on the landing pad for the next few days would chip away at the remaining credits, leaving her with little in case of emergency. Still, Korin knew she wouldn’t be able to convince him to give her what she was owed, and the alternative was fighting him for it. Her hand rested idly on the butt of her brother’s pistol. She watched his eyes snap down, his stance stiffening as he registered the motion for what it was. Him, she could take, but the rest of the crew all at once was unlikely, and even if she won, the only result would be the loss of her carefully cultivated anonymity. Besides, she had the one thing that could hopefully make this job truly worth it stashed in her boot already. Another job would come. She lifted her hand from the pistol, pocketed the credits, and walked away.
Feet scraping on sun-baked cobblestone, Korin strode through long, neat streets, weaving carefully through the bustling clamor of the lunchtime rush. Midday meant crowds, which she would normally prefer to avoid, but unfortunately, the advantage of crowds meant she could disappear far more easily than in an empty street. Head down to avoid both the bright glare of the sun and the eyes of passersby, she navigated to her block and, once she was sure she hadn’t been followed, pressed her key card to the lock. The lock clicked, and she opened the door, giving a hard shove when it stuck in its frame. The second reason this time of day was convenient was that there was nobody on the first floor to see her enter the dilapidated stairwell and head up to her room.
The moment the door closed behind her, she pressed her back to it and let out a heavy sigh, her hot breath reflecting off her mask and back into her face. Despite the brevity of this job, it had been exceedingly stressful and exhausting. She’d expected it. It was like this every time she dealt with the Empire. Thankfully, the sheer risk of such an operation meant it had to be spaced out at least every couple of months, plus several systems' worth of distance, so it didn’t happen often. Each bit of relief at a completed mission held a hidden knife of guilt, however. She wasn’t doing enough. Every minute, every day, every month wasted was time her family would never get back. It slipped through her fingers faster than she could keep up with it.
Before she could do anything else, Korin swept the room, feeling under surfaces and inside light fixtures for anything out of place– listening devices, cameras, trackers, anything, really. The upside of having such a tiny room was that there wasn’t much to check, so she was done quickly. She didn’t find anything, and she hadn’t expected to, but the one time she did, five or six planets ago, had ensured the habit remained solidly ingrained in her. It was almost certainly a fluke, given that every time she had the opportunity to check the holo archive, they still had her listed among the dead in a section titled “Imperial Triumphs Over The Jedi Scourge,” but it still proved that she could never fully let her guard down. (Once, she’d made the mistake of downloading that list onto her datapad. For days afterward, she lost herself in thousands of names, staring until the battery drained and the letters branded themselves onto the insides of her eyelids. It was the worst kind of entrancement, veering from obsession to self-flagellation and worse, to distraction. She didn’t know what felt worse: that she recognized so many of those names, or that the number she did was wholly dwarfed by the ones she didn’t. She deleted the list less than a week later. If only she could delete the memory, too.)
With her paranoia temporarily abated, she tugged down her mask and hood, sat on her bed, and reached into the bag resting just underneath, rummaging for her lock box. The key hidden in her vambrace unlocked it, exposing the contents within. She pulled out her datapad, determinedly pretending the remaining items in the box didn't exist, and unlocked it as well, typing in the elaborate password with practiced fingers. Now, to see if she had anything worthwhile.
Korin removed her boot and reached into the clasped pocket inside to find a data stick, hopefully containing months of communications between the outpost she'd just helped to rob and the rest of the sector. If her brothers were anywhere nearby, this would tell her. Not that she had any idea what she would do once she knew. She was taking this one step at a time, except that for the past fifteen months, she’d been taking the same first step ad nauseam. Biting her lip, she inserted the stick into the datapad and waited with bated breath for the information to appear. It took a while, her cheap, secondhand datapad huffing and puffing with the effort of loading so much raw data at once, but eventually, line after line after line of transcripted message logs popped onto the screen. Korin breathed a sigh of relief at the sight. She knew Imperial outposts scrubbed message logs every ninety days, so the fact that there was anything here at all was promising.
This search went quicker than her first few attempts; she’d learned by now to ignore the senders and recipients of messages, as they only ever listed outpost codes or, very occasionally, naturally born officer names, rather than battalion numbers. Instead, she focused on filtering through the messages themselves, searching for any mention of battalions or troop movements. Most she didn’t recognise, likely composed of natborn recruits rather than clones. Some she had a passing familiarity with. She caught a few mentions of the 212th, which made her breathless with painful reminiscence. Then, right at the end, right as she was starting to think she wouldn’t find anything, she saw it. A blindingly bright ray of hope that sent her rocketing to her feet in anticipation. Lips parted, breath shuddering, she read through the message. Part of the 104th had passed through this sector. This very outpost, in fact. Over two months ago.
There was no mention of where they’d headed after. They could be anywhere in the galaxy by now. Of course. Of course. This brief ray of hope was nothing more than a mirage in the desert, a cruel facade, a false promise dangling her purpose in front of her only to rip it away. The datapad slammed into the wall and clattered onto the floor before she even realized she’d thrown it. Korin’s legs gave out beneath her, and she sat roughly on the bed, hunching over to rest her head in her hands. Over a year of searching, of chasing rumors and ghosts like a hound for blood despite the constant threat at her heels, all amounting to nothing. How many of her brothers were still out there? How many had been lost as she flailed ineffectively, hopping planets and hoping to stumble across something? If she couldn’t find them, then what was she?
Korin scoffed. What was she doing? This was no reason to succumb to despair. She was no worse off than she had been before she opened her datapad. What had she lost? Nothing but time. And even as its wheels seemed to spin ever faster, even as she had to devote more and more of it to surviving rather than searching, time was something Korin had an abundance of. She'd made a promise. She would get her brothers back. Whatever it took. No setback would stop her. No danger was too great.
Her stomach clenched uncomfortably, hollow. She lowered her hands and tapped her fingers on the thin padding of a bed several centimeters too short for her. She was sorely tempted to end the day early and go to bed without. After such a day, the thought of venturing out into the clamor again for something so trivial as food was unfathomably exhausting, and while the cracked, beige paint and cramped walls of her room weren’t exactly luxurious by any metric, something in Korin found it almost comforting, calling back to the austere nature of her childhood. Hmph. Even though she hadn’t been a Jedi for over a year, she supposed some habits would never die.
An insistent howl from her stomach broke her out of her thoughts, and she sighed. Going hungry for too long would make her weak, unable to respond properly to threats. She could already feel the slight tremble in her muscles. If nothing else, she had to stay strong. She had to stay strong for them.
Korin stood and peeled off her collection of scavenged, mismatched armor, piling the pieces in the corner. Then, she took off the superfluous armor over her leg that made it less obviously a prosthetic. Finally, she removed her hood, instead replacing it with a scarf to cover the patch of pale blue skin stretching up her neck. The long sleeves of her shirt were essential for the same purpose. Shaking her head, she stepped over and picked up her datapad, running her fingers along the edges. It wasn’t broken, and she hadn’t worried that it was. It was old and worn, but shockingly durable. It would survive. Giving one last scathing glare to the data still displayed on the screen, she switched the camera function on, leaning in close to check her hair, not for reasons of vanity, but for errant streaks of color. The shaggy length of it, reaching just past the bottom of her neck, remained black, but she could see spots of silvery purple by the roots. She sighed. She was nearly out of hair dye, too. Just another thing to add to the list of expenses. More than once, she’d considered shaving it, but she worried that would only make it more visible rather than less.
After locking up the datapad, she put her boot back on, rolled her pant leg down to cover her prosthetic leg, grabbed a bag, and headed out, reluctantly forsaking the quiet solitude of her room for the open panopticon of the city streets.
It was less busy now than it had been earlier in the day, but it felt just as dangerous, just as exposing as before, perhaps more so, since disappearing into a vast huddle of people wasn’t an option. At the very least, she didn’t have to deal with the overstimulating noise and contact. She lowered her head and pushed on, shoulders tense and eyes watchful.
She missed a great deal about the Force, feeling blind, deaf, and exceptionally slow without it, but the worst of it was how exposed its absence made her. How did anyone get by when every turned corner could hold danger just beyond, with no way of knowing for certain? On the other hand, she’d heard the rumors of the Empire’s new attack dogs, the dark wraiths whose sole purpose was hunting those few Jedi who managed to escape the massacre now known as the Jedi Purge. It was rumored that they trained constantly, sharpening their senses until they could detect Force Sensitives half a planet away, regardless of their shielding capabilities. Korin was sure much of that was propaganda, but still, it paid to be cautious, as the list of wanted Jedi grew gradually smaller every time she checked. If there was one good thing about losing her abilities, it was this: if she was blind to the Force, then the Force was blind to her, as well. The best shield is not to be a target at all.
A single word, tinny and slightly crackly, broke through the thick mire of her thoughts. Jedi. She stopped, deaf to the angry mutterings of the person walking behind her. Displayed on the wall beside her was a screen, cracked and missing lines of image, playing unending streams of Empire-approved news. Most of the time, she ignored it. Today, she lingered.
Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan stood in the Senate Chambers, illuminated by a lone spear of light, tall and proud amidst a crowd of his jeering, dismissive peers. As he spoke, Korin realized she recognised the words; this was an older speech, one given a scant few weeks after the rise of the Empire. “I request a full investigation of the circumstances surrounding the attempt on then-Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s life, the directive designating the Jedi Order as a hostile actor, the clone army’s tactical protocols for confronting Jedi combatants, and the treatment of juvenile Jedi combatants by our military,” he proposed, his voice smooth and persuasive. As he continued, his words were diplomatic, offering concessions and expressions of loyalty to the Empire at every turn, though Korin saw something in his eyes, something she hadn’t noticed the first time she’d seen this speech. She’d been in a daze then, hardly able to pay attention to anything that wasn’t an immediate threat. Now, with the clarity that time brought, it was obvious. He hid it well, but grief recognised grief. The proof that someone, anyone, grieved the Jedi made her chest feel full of razor blades. Around the same time this speech was given, she’d landed on a planet to find it awash in celebration. She’d thought they were celebrating the end of the war, which was certainly understandable, even if she didn't share the same optimism.
Then, she heard the chanting. The Purge was not enough.
As the speech came to a close, the view shifted to two news anchors, sitting in cushy chairs and debating Senator Organa’s loyalty to the Empire.
“Shame to see a respected man like that advocating for those traitors.” Korin turned her head, finding a man standing beside her, eyes fixed on the screen, shaking his head in solemn disapproval. She clenched her jaw and stepped around him, slamming her shoulder into his as she did so. “Hey!” he called indignantly.
“Excuse me,” she muttered, and continued on.
As she walked, she ignored most of the shops she passed, giving an especially wide berth to one or two that she knew were populated by grey uniforms. The Empire had a hand in most of the businesses around here, artificially lowering prices to push locals out of the competition. Korin had only been here for just over two months, which was longer than she’d normally stay in one place, but she’d already seen two stores go out of business, only to be swiftly “rescued” by the Empire. There were some, though, who still held strong. At the end of the block, Korin turned and entered a small, nondescript corner shop, its neon sign flickering and its wide front windows scratched but clean. As she pushed the door open, a chime rang out, and she was met with a wall of artificial cold. The man behind the counter, idly stacking tubes of peezos into a tower, perked up at the sound, his face splitting into a wide grin. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite customer!” Peri called.
Korin scoffed quietly to herself; he said that to nearly all of his customers. Still, his enthusiasm made it seem as though he meant it every time. Avoiding eye contact, she raised her hand in greeting, and he took this as permission to keep talking as she searched for what she needed.
“How you been, Dalton? It’s been a minute.” She was glad her back was turned, as it allowed her to hide her wince at the name. Exhausted after a string of sleepless nights, Korin had told him the first thing that came to mind when he asked her for her name the day she arrived here. She’d regretted it immediately, but it would have been more suspicious to change it, so unfortunately, she was stuck with it for now, feeling sharp memories twist in her gut every time it was uttered. Thankfully, he misheard what she actually said, dubbing her “Dalton” instead, so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. In lieu of a proper answer, Korin shrugged, staring at a shelf of protein cubes.
Peri chuckled, the sound quiet and tired. “Yeah, I get that.” Korin tilted her head, knowing he’d see it. He sighed. “ Just trying to keep afloat. Ma got another offer to sell the shop last week. We'll hold out, of course, but it's gonna be rough for a bit.”
Korin moved on to fresh produce. It'd be more expensive than just buying dietary supplements somewhere else, but at least this way, she could help somebody. Meanwhile, Peri moved on to lighter topics, holding back the tide of awkward silence with stories about what he and his friends got up to on their days off. She hummed once in a while to show she was listening, but didn’t contribute much more than that. Korin had never been especially talkative with strangers, but these days... Well. Most people were less likely to try to talk to someone who didn’t talk back, and friends were one of the many luxuries Korin couldn’t afford. Unfortunately, Peri was seemingly determined to be friendly with everybody. Paradoxically, it might have been easier to deal with if she actually disliked the man.
Before long, Korin gathered what she needed and took it to the front, piling it on the counter. Peri wrinkled his nose exaggeratedly as he began scanning the items. “I know it might be hard to tell around here, but flavor is still legal.”
“Hmm?”
He held up a box of unflavored protein cubes. “Just wondering why you’re torturing yourself with these.”
“Cheaper,” Korin grunted.
“Ah, makes sense.” The conversation lulled a moment, the silence only punctuated by the rhythmic beep of his scanner. Finally, he took a breath and said, “You sure you’re okay? I know you’re not exactly chatty, but you’re quiet today.”
Her lips pressed together. Perhaps she’d been here too long if the locals were taking note of her like this. She might be leaving sooner than she thought. “Tired,” she replied after a beat.
When she glanced up, the corners of Peri’s eyebrows were downturned. “Sounds like you need a break.” Then, his face brightened. “Hey, my friends and I are heading down to the river tomorrow night to hang out. You’re welcome to join us; I think they’d like to meet you.”
Her heart stopped. He knew. Maybe not the whole story, but he knew, somehow, that she was a fugitive. Korin had been here too long; she gave something away. She must have. Why else would he ask her to intrude on a gathering with his friends? His “friends” would probably be Imperial stormtroopers lying in wait to capture her. It didn’t matter if they knew what she was, because all it would take was a tip to ruin her. Peri made little effort to hide his distaste for the Empire, but she also knew he had his shop to worry about. If threatened with his livelihood, why wouldn’t he burn a near stranger to keep it?
“Dalton?” She’d been quiet for too long. Peri watched her, brow furrowed, hand frozen over the register. “Sorry, didn’t mean to ambush you like that. You don’t have to come.”
She could hardly hear him over the ringing in her ears. “It’s fine.” Movement flashed in the corner of her vision. Her head snapped around, catching the tail of a coat disappearing beyond the edge of the window. Had it started already?
“Dalton? Is something wrong?” He looked truly concerned now. Acting like this would only make it worse. She couldn't let him know she suspected anything. With great effort, she pushed through the panic enough to speak, schooling her face into a hopefully neutral expression.
“No. How much?” she asked, gesturing to her groceries.
Peri blinked, as if just remembering they were there. “Right, uh, a hundred and twenty-four-”
Korin tossed a handful of credits– too many, but she was too impatient to count– onto the counter and started sweeping the food into her bag.
“Oh, thanks, I’ll see you-”
The end of his sentence was cut off as the door closed behind her.
-
An hour later, as Korin’s ship hurtled through hyperspace, she finally let some of the tension drop from her shoulders. Embarrassment swiftly swept in to replace it. She’d just uprooted herself over what was, with the gift of hindsight, probably nothing. With the Empire, though, there were no second chances. Every faint possibility of a threat had to be treated with due severity. She’d done the same over less before. It would happen again.
Underneath the embarrassment and the lingering anxiety, however, lay a colossal sense of relief. The relief of solitude, of putting distance between herself and the Empire, of knowing that soon, all of the people on the planet she’d just left behind would forget she even existed. Every time she made planetfall to settle down or pick up supplies or find work, it felt like putting herself under siege. Every day for weeks or months was spent manning the battlements, patching up holes and weaknesses in her defenses as the world kept chipping away, maintaining the great shell guarding the cavernous emptiness within. Eventually, it just became too much. The good thing about these imaginary walls, though, was that they were as mobile as she was. Retreating had never felt easier.
After ensuring everything was running smoothly and that the cockpit wouldn’t need her attention for a while, Korin stood and headed back to make dinner. This ship was slightly smaller than the one she’d pilfered during her escape during the death of the Republic, but it was certainly more comfortable, with a tiny passenger hold, an even smaller kitchen, and even a bedroom, though it was more akin to a prison cell. When she’d tried to sell that first ship, the buyer, suspecting something was off, reported her to the authorities. She had to steal one of his ships to escape, and though she normally didn’t like to steal unless absolutely necessary, this was one she felt few qualms about. Trading that ship in got her this freighter, which served both as transportation and the only place she didn’t feel trapped in.
The pan sizzled as Korin tossed in chopped vegetables and crumbled chunks of protein cubes. The scent of cooking food wafted up, making her stomach clench in a confusing mix of hunger and nausea. When she deemed it sufficiently cooked, she piled it onto a plate and sprinkled it with salt and hot sauce. The hot sauce was her sole culinary indulgence, a trick to make flavorless food somewhat palatable, taught to her by someone long dead. Choking the food down only took a few minutes, and after rinsing her plate, she was left standing against the stove, aimless. Before she could get too lost in her head, she wandered back to the cockpit to check her flight path once more.
She’d made sure this jump was a long one, wanting to put as much distance between herself and that planet as possible, so there were a good eleven hours left in hyperspace. It’d be painful forking over the credits for fuel after landing, but she could worry about that later. Feeling far too wired to sleep, Korin decided the best thing she could do was tire herself out, so for the next hour or so, she busied herself with doing pushups until she collapsed, squats until her right leg gave out, and pullups until she could hardly feel her arms and back.
With her muscles now warm and shaky from exhaustion, she stumbled to the bedroom and sat on her bed. Her face pulled back into a grimace as she registered the burning ache in the stump of her right leg, the result of going days without removing her prosthetic. Biting her lip, Korin reached down, pulled up her pant leg, and detached her leg, hissing in both pain and relief as the pressure released. The skin of her stump was red and swollen, rubbed raw in some places. She knew this would happen when she went to bed the previous night with her prosthetic on, but at the time, she’d deemed it unimportant; she was too worried about the possibility of someone breaking in to sleep with such an obvious vulnerability. Now that she was facing the consequences, she regretted it (not that it would stop her from doing it again). Ideally, Korin would go a few days without her prosthetic to let it rest, instead getting by on crutches, but she couldn’t stay idle that long. She’d have to make do with one, maybe two at the most, depending on how it felt in the morning.
As soon as the thought of sleep crossed her mind, her eyes trailed to the cabinet beside her bed. Within it were clothes, a med kit, and a spare pistol, but the only thing she cared about just then was the bottle of sleep pills in the top drawer. Normally, it felt like too much of a risk to knock herself out like this, but in a pre-calculated hyperspace route, nothing could harm her save for a freak mechanical issue, and the alarms that would set off were certainly loud enough to wake her. She hesitated briefly, remembering the strange dreams she’d been stricken with last time, but when the alternative was hardly any better, it made sense to take advantage of this brief window of peace. She shook two pills out into her palm, tossed them back, and swallowed them dry. Then, she lay down and waited.
They took effect quickly, though that may have been little more than a placebo. Within minutes, her eyelids were fluttering. Her breathing grew slow and deep. Though her limbs grew heavier as her muscles slackened, her head felt so, so light…
Clawed fingers traced ever so gently along her scalp, so faint that they felt almost immaterial. Slowly, she became aware of a voice, soft and rumbling, muffled slightly by an airtight mask. Automatically, her lips twitched into an effortless smile. The voice chuckled. “Open your eyes, dahlta.”
She did so. Plo, she tried to say, though her mouth made no sound. The skin around his goggles crinkled into the softest of smiles, though his mouth was covered by his mask. It was the warmest Korin had ever felt. It didn't matter that she couldn't move because Plo was here to protect her. Nothing bad could happen to her when Plo was here. She blinked, and he was gone. In his place sat a man with an achingly familiar face, with its mismatched eyes and thick white scar marring his flesh. Wolffe looked down, not at her, but at the pistol in his hands, which he turned over and over and over. He lifted the pistol, and before she could see if he was going to level it at her head or his own-
She blinked. Sinker, with his perpetually messy dyed grey hair, grinned down at her, but there was no happiness to be found in it. His mouth was full of too many teeth, and his eyes brimmed with tears while the muscles in his face twitched with the strain. As she watched, his rictus grin stretched painfully, impossibly wide, pulling until his lips split, all while his eyes begged for it to stop-
She blinked. Boost stood over her, hands hovering over her throat, his face the hollow, sunken mask of a corpse. He stopped as he noticed her gaze on him and smiled slightly, sardonic. When his lips parted, a thick, half-congealed stream of blood dribbled out, splashing onto her hand and nearly making her flinch. In a raspy, cheerful voice, he said, “Check this out, Commander.” As he spoke, he unclasped his chestplate, lifting it to expose the gaping hole in his chest, burned black around the edges, white bone spearing through flesh and soft red organs pulsing angrily. She could see the wall behind him through the hole. “Think it'll scar up nicely?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, there would be nobody there to greet her. All she had was herself, lightsaber in hand, with blood still sizzling on the superheated metal of the emitter.
Korin opened her eyes. The darkened ceiling loomed low over her, just held at bay by the walls that propped it up. Gravity felt ten times stronger than it should have, pinning her limbs down and pushing hard on her chest as if she were at the bottom of an ocean, with thousands of kilograms of water bearing down on her. Her chest moved shallowly as she tried to breathe against the leaden pressure, her gasps only becoming quicker and more desperate with each failed attempt. Was that movement in the corner of her eye, or was it just her brain trying to make sense of the murky shadows? Tears spilled down her cheeks, a low whimper scraping out of her throat as she tried to move, to breathe, to do anything.
Finally, her finger twitched. Her mind latched onto the feeling, doing it again and again until she managed to clench her fist. Like the flip of a switch, the weight disappeared. Air flooded her lungs, then was squeezed out in a painful sob. In a rush, Korin sat up, pressed her back to the wall, and buried her head in her arms, shoulders heaving as she tried in vain to forget the slick feeling of blood on her hands.
-
The light of the early morning sun pounded feebly against a thick layer of cloud cover, its rays scattering into a screen of dull grey. Clouds, dark and swollen with precipitation, loomed low over the city, poised to release at a moment’s notice, though it hadn’t started just yet. The air was moist and cold, with coils of fog that skirted the bases of buildings and obscured anything further than ten meters. Water dripped, lazy but persistent, from steel awnings, collecting in puddles left over from the previous night’s deluge. Though the buildings and the streets winding between them were a sea of monochrome, the city had no shortage of color. Tapestries of all hues hung behind windows, and textiles draped over tables set out beneath the protection of the awnings. Flags, heavy with moisture, slumped from thick poles. The few people up and about at this hour were so draped in color, it seemed as though they were in revolt against the overwhelming grey they lived within.
Korin kept her head low as she navigated the route she had planned the previous night. She could take in the sights and explore the city properly later, but now, she had a job to get to. Loading crates of fabric and dyes into cargo ships for export wouldn’t exactly be exciting work, but the pay was decent enough, and she needed to keep a low-stakes job for a while to make sure there was no heat on her.
As she walked, Korin became aware that her footsteps had a subtle, strange echo; someone was walking behind her. She slowed, looking to the side as if studying one of the tapestries, and so did the footsteps behind her. It was possible they were just going in the same direction she was, but she had to be sure. With the meandering pace of someone simply wandering without a destination in mind, she turned right at the end of the street. The quiet, but not quiet enough, crunch of shoes on gravel followed. At the end of that street, she made another right, the turn once again being matched.
So, she’d gained a shadow.
Korin subtly patted the lump in her jacket, reassuring herself that the pistol was still there, just in case. Now, to deal with the problem. She turned down a secluded street, empty of people and relatively shielded from prying eyes, slowing and lifting her arm as if to check a datapad. Sure enough, the quiet patter of footsteps rushed up behind her. Just as they were about to reach her, Korin whipped around and grabbed their outstretched arm in her left hand, squeezing tightly enough to bruise. Her right hand raised, ready to strike, then froze as she realized the air in front of her was empty.
She looked down. The arm she held wasn’t that of a stormtrooper, or an Inquisitor, or even a common thief. It was a child. A Tholothian child no older than eight or nine, eyes wide with terror, whimpering quietly as they tried to wrest their arm from her iron grip. Korin let go. The child, not expecting the sudden loss of resistance, tumbled to the ground, hands scraping against rough gravel. She swallowed painfully, her mouth dry, face hot, heart thundering in her chest. Before she could do something, anything, to fix this, a voice shouted from the corner of the street.
“Oi! Is there a problem here?” A security guard, judging by his uniform, sauntered over, hand on his stun baton and eyes narrowed suspiciously, not at her, but at the child on the ground, who had gone stiff with fear. Korin shifted slightly to stand between them and the guard, fists clenched. The guard smiled at her, apologetic. “Sorry about that one. We have a bit of a street rat problem here. I can handle this real quick if you just-”
“No,” Korin croaked. The guard frowned in confusion, and she cleared her throat and tried again. “No problem here. Was a misunderstanding.”
The guard tilted his head. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
He took one long look at her, then at the child, then back at her. Finally, he shrugged. “Suit yourself. You know who to call if you get robbed blind.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt, turned, and swaggered off.
Korin waited until he was out of sight before turning to check on the child. They glared up at her, guarded. “Why’d you do that?” they demanded. “You could have let him arrest me.”
She didn’t have an answer they’d be satisfied with. Instead, she asked, “How’s your arm?”
The child looked down at their arm in surprise, as if they’d forgotten what she did. Already, she could see it was swelling slightly, though it thankfully looked like there was no real damage. Still, the sight made her feel about two centimeters tall. After a thorough inspection, the child spat, “It’s fine.”
Korin nodded. “Hands?”
The child pulled their hands back and hid them under their arms as if she’d threatened to steal them. “Why?” Korin knelt on her metal leg, reaching into her bag to pull out a small med kit. “Oh. Do you really carry a med kit with you all the time?” they asked incredulously.
“Yes.” They hesitated. Then, slowly, as if expecting her to strike at any moment, the child showed her their hands. Their palms were dirty, flakes of skin peeling around shallow scrapes while thin trails of blood leaked from deeper cuts. Korin stared at the wounds, trying to push down her guilt at the sight. Shaking her head, she pulled out a water bottle and a relatively clean cloth, then soaked a corner of the cloth. Hand outstretched, she waited patiently for the child to give over one of their hands. After a moment, they did so.
As Korin cleaned dirt and debris out of the scrapes, she couldn't help but notice how small their hands were, how their joints stretched through thin skin, how icy their fingers were, even considering her own naturally warm hands. She knew the signs. They were the same across hundreds of missions, scores of planets. Despite her efforts to be gentle, the child hissed and flinched back as Korin swiped the cloth over a particularly deep scrape. “Sorry,” Korin mumbled before she could reconsider.
“Why are you helping me?” the child asked, still as confused as before, though slightly less hostile.
“Didn't mean to hurt you.” She jerked her head in the direction the security guard walked. “Misunderstanding.”
“But that doesn't-” They stopped, breath shuddering as Korin spread a diluted layer of bacta gel over the cuts. For a moment, she thought they might cry, but they pushed the tears down. Somehow, that felt worse.
She opened her mouth to say something comforting, then stopped herself, redirecting her attention to flipping through a stack of bandages to find the right size. Instead, she said, “I noticed you three turns back.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the child frown. “What?”
“I heard you. Gravel is loud. More noticeable when the streets are empty. Seems riskier, but it’s easier to go unnoticed when there are more people around than less.” Korin began opening bandages and placing them over the wounds, smoothing her thumb over the fabric to ensure the adhesive stuck.
“Are you… giving me advice on pickpocketing?”
Rather than answering, Korin continued, “Should learn to spot when people notice you. Changing pace, random turns, moving to more or less populated areas. Better to lose a mark than your freedom.”
The child was silent for a beat. Then, they sighed. “Your clothes are weird. Too dark. You look like a tourist,” they said, scrunching their nose in derision. Korin looked down at her layers of mostly black and grey clothing, then back at the child in their bright, though slightly sun-bleached, clothes, feeling rather stupid that a kid noticed the discrepancy before she did. “Standing out like that makes you an easy mark. Get something with color, but don’t style it like an idiot, cause then you’ll look even more like a tourist.”
Korin huffed a little but nodded. She stood, regretting the extended period of time on her knee, and held out a hand to help the child up. This time, there was no hesitation. It took less effort than it should have to return them to their feet. Before they could scamper off, she held up a finger and reached into her too-light credit pouch, tossing them a couple of chips. At their questioning look, she explained, “For the advice.”
They grinned, tucking the credits away like they were something precious. “Thanks. And, um, I’ll tell my friends not to steal from a tall stranger with a metal leg who may or may not look like a tourist.” Then, they ran off, disappearing around a corner. She almost smiled as she watched them go.
Korin shoved her hands in her pockets, hunched her shoulders, and returned to her route. She’d be several minutes late and a few credits short, but that was okay, because she felt lighter than she had in months. She’d forgotten what it was like to talk to someone like this, to heal wounds the way she used to. It felt… nice. Awkward, but natural. She wondered if she’d see the child again. Maybe after her payday, she could get them a proper warm meal. They deserved it after the fright she’d given them earlier.
Then, Korin remembered herself. She remembered the source of those wounds. She remembered the fear on the child’s face as they stared up at her, desperate to escape. She remembered feeling the bones of a thin wrist grinding together under the force of her grip. She remembered what she was, and she remembered exactly what would happen to her if the Empire found her. She remembered what they would do to anyone who helped her, how they would carve through anyone in their path to get to her, how they would make those close to her scream just to see her shatter. And she remembered it wasn’t just herself she was protecting.
Korin wasn’t a safe person. That child was better off without her.
When Korin arrived at the warehouse, she took her chastisement for her tardiness without complaint. Her boss needed the extra hands, so she kept the scolding short and put Korin to work hefting crates off pallets and into cargo ships. She was silent as she worked, the conversations of her fellow workers fading to a background buzz. Given her status as an outsider, she hardly even had to try for them to leave her alone.
Despite the physically taxing nature of the work, she didn't have to think too hard about it. Mind numbing, but in a pleasant, almost meditative way. Out of all the jobs she’d worked since the fall of the Republic, this sort was her favorite. Hard, physical work that allowed her to forget, to leave herself behind for ten hours a day and push thoughts and fears that normally clamored for her attention down into the shadowed recesses of her mind. Here, she wasn’t a Jedi, or a soldier, or even a medic. Here, she was nobody.
The day passed quickly, and though there was a brief bout of light as the sun broke through the clouds around midday, by the time Korin finished, the sky was darker than it had been in the morning. A light drizzle had started an hour or two earlier and had now built up enough strength to be a proper downpour. Her coworkers, long used to the weather, cursed the sky good-naturedly and trudged home, avoiding puddles with ease that came from knowing exactly how the street dipped and rose. Korin allowed herself a moment to soak in the cool relief of rain on her skin, then followed after, taking a winding path back to her rented room. On the way, she made a quick stop at a clothes shop to pick up a maroon tunic.
In the month that she stayed there, Korin took care not to see the child again. Though the patter of footsteps behind her became a near constant companion on her morning walks, they remained at a distance, never daring to genuinely attempt a pickpocketing again. She pretended not to hear them, keeping to her route and steadfastly refusing to turn back, even when they abandoned the pretense of stealth. Still, despite her resolve, she never changed her route, and she couldn’t resist dropping a credit or two every morning. She could spare that much. On her last day, there was no goodbye. Korin left in the dead of night, leaving no trace of her existence save for the small pouch of credits just outside her door. She could only hope the child got to it before anyone else did. She never did learn their name. Korin told herself that made it easier. By the time she next made planetfall, she almost believed it, too.