TWENTY THREE.
let down your shields!
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The sea of gold flying past Zoya's eyes slows rapidly as Din raises his fist into the air, abruptly pulling their speeder to a halt. "Get down!" he says to Toro. Before the other man responds, he quickly dismounts and loops an arm around Zoya's waist, pulling her down with him to the sand before she has a chance to react.

An uncontrolled breath puffs from her lips as her chest knocks against his, and she keeps her eyes down, making sure to avoid looking up at his visor.

When she's coiled into a stable crouch, he releases her, creeping forward to the crest of the dune in front of them. Zoya follows, keeping low, the persistent reminder of his touch burning through her clothes to scald her skin. Toro lowers himself to the ground on Din's other side, peering down at the valley laying between a circle of high, arcing dunes. A Dewback lingers down in the sand, grunting and shifting its feet.

"All right," Din says. "Tell me what you see."

"Dewback. Looks like the rider is still attached." Toro narrows his eyes, squinting down at the figure lying motionless on the ground. "Is that her? Is that the target?"

"I don't know," Din replies.

Zoya shakes her head disbelievingly. "It can't be. Didn't you say she was some sort of super elite assassin? She wouldn't be taken out riding a"—she gestures down to the valley—"fucking Dewback."

"Maybe, maybe not. I'll go check. You cover me." As he pulls his blaster from the holster at his thigh, Din directs the last sentence to Zoya, tilting his helmet towards her. She nods, a memory of his words from not too long ago fluttering softly across her skin with a trace of warmth. I trust you. "Stay down."

Zoya unholsters her own weapon, Toro mirroring the action. Tossing him an annoyed look, she pushes her elbows deeper into the sand, grimacing as grains tumble through her sleeves. Din rounds the dune and jogs quickly towards the lifeless corpse. The Dewback bellows as he gets closer, taking a step away, the body dragging across the ground.

"How long have you two been together?" Toro says.

She refuses to look his way. "We've been traveling together for a while." Her eyes remain on Din as he rolls the body onto its back to examine its face, tightening her grip on the handle of her weapon. "Not that it's any of your business."

"You don't have to be so bitchy." Zoya's jaw drops open, but before she can bite back with a stinging reply, he calls out to the Mandalorian, raising his voice higher than is really necessary, "Well, is it her? Is she dead?"

"Asshole," Zoya mutters.

Din's voice tumbles across the sand. "It's another bounty hunter."

"Hey, I hope you don't plan on keeping all that stuff for yourself!" Toro shouts. "Can I at least have that blaster?"

"Could you be any louder?" Zoya says exasperatedly, scanning the desert for any signs of trouble.

Just as Toro whips towards her, retort sizzling on the tip of his tongue, Din's head suddenly shoots straight up, and he stands, backing towards them, the back of his helmet shifting as his glance darts around. "Get down!" he yells, loud and deep.

            As he turns to run back to them, a bolt ricochets off the Beskar on his shoulder with a loud clang, knocking him into the dirt. Zoya's heart twists and leaps, thundering at her temples.

Toro's brows shoot up. "Mando!"

Zoya lowers herself enough that only her eyes peer over the sand. "He's fine," she says, almost trying to convince herself. "It hit his armor."

He scrambles to his feet, dashing towards them. She clenches her blaster, eyes darting across the range behind him. As he crests the dune, another bolt takes him square in the back, sending him tumbling over the ridge. His boot narrowly misses Zoya's head and would have clocked her in the temple if she hadn't ducked, anticipating his fall. Immediately, Din whirls to his feet, flattening himself beside them, blaster still steady in his gloved hand, his shoulder brushing slightly against Zoya's.

"What happened?" Toro says.

"What happened was that you were too fucking loud," Zoya mutters, short temper spiking, instead of asking Din if he's all right like her heart begs her to. She aims her blaster towards the direction the shots came from, refusing to give into the temptation to turn and look at the Mandalorian and touch her hand to his helmet.

Toro throws her a glare but otherwise ignores her comment as Din keeps low, chest rising and falling rapidly. "Sniper bolt," he says, panting. "Only an MK-modified rifle could make that shot."

"Are you all right?" Toro asks before Zoya can force herself to say it aloud.

"Yeah," Din says, and the word falls from his lips like a sigh. "Hit me in the Beskar, and at that range, Beskar held up."

"Wait, I don't wear any Beskar," Toro blurts, eyes widening with something that looks like fear.

"An intelligent observation," Zoya says. "Mando's the only one wearing any because he's a Mandalorian, genius."

Her comment receives a muffled laugh from Din, which never fails to give her a rush of satisfaction. Toro merely tosses an annoyed look Zoya's way, fed up with her sarcasm. She meets his stare head on, hazel eyes turning into crackling, burning bonfires that become a challenge, a challenge that Toro backs down from, looking away first.

"So . . . what do we do?" Toro asks, focusing forward once again, away from the provocation in Zoya's eyes.

"You see where that shot came from?" Din asks, raising himself slightly over the dune, once again bumping against Zoya's arm. She knows she should give him some space, but she can't make herself rise to move farther away.

"Yeah, it came from that ridge," Toro says, gesturing towards the gray, mountainous range in the distance.

Zoya's eyes search the crests carefully, as if she looks hard enough, she'll be able to see Fennec Shand even without using a long-distance scope.

Din shifts back resolutely. "Okay, we're gonna wait until dark."

"Well, what if she escapes?" Toro glances at the Mandalorian, the hilt of his blaster digging into the sand.

The Mandalorian shakes his head. "She's got the high ground. She'll wait for us to make the first move." Din flips over onto his back, starting to slide down the dune towards where their speeders are waiting. "I'm gonna rest. You take the first watch; stay low." A pause, then he adds, "Zoya—come."

She pushes herself down the slope obediently, rising to her feet once she's beneath the crest of the dune and out of sight of the assassin's sniper rifle. "You know, you don't have to talk to me like I'm a dog."

Beneath the helmet, his lips twitch. "It seems to work well enough."

Zoya rolls her eyes, sliding her blaster into the holster at her hip as she tails Din to the speeders. "Doesn't mean it's gonna work next time. I just wanted a chance to get away from that idiot for a minute."

Din casts her an amused glance, once she can't decipher due to the visor shielding his features. "You really don't like him."

"I don't," she says readily. "He makes me uncomfortable."

His shoulders tense as Zoya comes to a stop in front of him. His helmet tilts down marginally. "Did something happen when I wasn't there?"

Zoya shakes her head and admits, "No."

"Do you just have a feeling, then?" Din's eyes search her face when she doesn't respond right away, her jaw working as she looks down at the sand beneath her boots. "Zoya. You can tell me anything. You know that, right?" Her bottom lip trembles, and he's not sure if he imagines the ghost of fear that flits across her features, knitting her brows for a split second. "What is it?" His voice is soft, gentle, and it brushes across her skin with tentative fingers.

"It's stupid," she mutters, starting to turn away.

Din's fingers carefully catch her shoulder. "If it's bothering you, it's not stupid. Just tell me what's wrong, and I can fix it."

"Okay," Zoya mumbles.

He gestures awkwardly towards the speeders beside them. "Do you want to sit down?"

When she nods, Din pulls his bag off the back of the speeder, propping it on the ground. They sink to the sand in unison; he lounges against the pack while she keeps her spine unfurled, straight as a rod, fingers woven tight together in her lap.

Zoya doesn't speak immediately, and after a beat of hesitance, Din reaches out, fingers grazing her back. When she doesn't pull away, he flattens his hand, tracing it in soothing, looping circles between her shoulder blades and around the braid that tumbles onto her back, gradually tracing down the slender curve of her spine. A shudder runs through her body, but as he starts to pull away, taking it as rejection, she makes a little sound in the back of her throat.

"You don't have to stop," she whispers.

"You want me to keep going?"

Zoya nods jerkily. She inhales, steadying herself, then says, "When I was in prison, two guards singled me out." His fingers still, and the muscled lines of his body harden beneath the Beskar. She notices his tension, but she steels herself, forcing the words to the tip of her tongue, despite how her lips quiver. "They—they, um—" Her voice trembles and cracks, and she presses the heels of her palms to her eyes, holding back tears, holding back her pain, furious that she's letting this weakness show, that she's letting him see how they'd broken her. "Toro didn't do anything," she says, once her voice is strong again. "But the way he stared at me, the hungry look in his eyes . . . it brought me back to those moments." Her fingers dig into the skin above her elbows. "I hate how weak it makes me feel," she whispers. "I hate it."

Something shatters in Din's heart at the way the words crumble from her lips, full of darkness and self-loathing, and he can't help but feel responsible, as he's the one who got her thrown in that cell. "Zoya, I—" Unable to find words full enough to encompass the wealth of regret and grief that builds within his heart, Din squeezes his eyes shut, unable to comprehend the pain she's been through.

"It's fine," she says, hardening her voice. "I'm fine. You wanted to know why I didn't like him. That's why. It's just instinct. It's stupid."

"It's not," Din tells her. "It's not stupid. I understand."

Her head lowers. "I don't want to make something out of nothing."

"Zoya. Look at me."

She swallows, then shifts on the ground, turning so her eyes can lock onto his visor. His hand rises to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, but before he can say anything, something tumbles from her lips, something that's gone through her mind countless times, something impulsive and rose-colored that she can't hold back any longer. And maybe Zoya doesn't want to hold it back anymore—perhaps she wants him to know how she feels, if only to pull them away from the conversation that sinks sharp, vicious talons into her chest.

"I wish I could see your eyes," she whispers.

Din's jaw tightens. "So do I." The sudden confession startles him as it falls into the air between them, and he can tell it surprises her as well. Her eyes widen perceptibly, gaze flicking across the onyx slices of his visor.

"You do?"

"I do." His voice is barely a breath, but it reaches Zoya nonetheless. Her weakened heart blossoms, petals unfurling. "Can I . . . can I hold you?" The words almost splinter into dozens of starlit fragments, as fragile as they are falling from his lips.

Nothing comes out when she tries to say his name, so Zoya simply folds herself into Din's chest, feeling the warmth of him as he curls his arms tightly around her, holding her close underneath the sapphire sky until it darkens into a midnight blue, lit only by a smattering of constellations, gleaming a hopeful, glowing silver.