THIRTY SIX.
trepidation!
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Nevarro looms ahead of the Razor Crest, a sphere of blueish gray, white clouds swirling in oblique patterns across its surface. Its sapphire aura blooms luminously against the black galaxy, glittering stars framing the planet like a spill of diamonds across onyx fabric, twinkling and sparkling with an ivory glow.

            The ship's engines roar as Din pilots them towards Nevarro, heartbeat thudding dully in his ears. "Approaching the atmosphere," he says, both to Zoya, curled up behind him in her seat, and over the comms, warning Cara and Kuiil before the ship jolts slightly.

            Premonition slides thickly down Zoya's spine, and nerves play out an unrhythmic tempo across her vertebrae. "I don't have a good feeling about this," she says aloud. "It feels like we're walking into a trap. What if he's waiting down there with a fuck-ton of guns? And soldiers? What if—"

            "Zoya," Din interrupts, turning in his chair to look at her. "It's okay."

            "You don't know that." She won't meet his gaze.

            "Hey," he says, and his voice is soft, gentle, reminiscent of the time he'd spoken to her without the helmet. "Look at me. Please."

            Her jaw is set into a hard line, abrupt and severely contrasting against the soft curve of her neck. Her hazel eyes are hooded, more russet than green in this light, and the strands of her bangs flutter as they catch in her eyelashes. And when she looks at him, Din could almost swear that the whole world stops, just for a moment.

            "We'll be okay," he tells her.

            A line forms between her brows. "Are you sure?" Zoya asks, and he hesitates, as he's not used to seeing her so uncertain, so vulnerable, so almost-afraid.

            "As sure as I can be," Din replies finally. "We'll make it turn out okay, no matter what happens. Deal?"

            Zoya's lips twist wryly, though a part of her still remains dark and worried and everything she wants to brush away with a flick of her fingers. But for him, for Din, she forces herself to smile. "Deal."

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Gears within the ship grind as the landing gear engages, autopilot directing the Razor Crest to land upon Nevarro's surface. Zoya curls her fingers into fists around her mount's reins, picturing the small group she had seen waiting through the front window before going down with Din to climb onto their Blurrgs, praying to whatever gods that might be listening that everything will play out the way she hopes.

            Din looks back at her as the ship thuds lightly, relaxing onto the planet's surface. Zoya's eyes lock onto his visor, and she nods steadily, conveying more confidence than she feels. With the child hovering in its reinforced cradle beside them, the group begins to descend down the lowered ramp, Kuiil first with Cara right on his heels. Zoya directs her Blurrg to stay near to Din's as they emerge out of the ship, every muscle in her body tensing as the other group approaches.

            "Sorry for the remote rendezvous, Mando, but things have gotten complicated since you were last here," Greef Karga calls out, and all Zoya can picture is how he'd hidden in the ship the last time they were on this planet, waiting to kill both of them and take the child.

            Her eyes freeze into chips of ice as Greef looks at her, willing every bit of threatening malice still lingering within her chest to present itself in her stare. It must work, because the Guild leader glances away quickly, refocusing back on Mando. Zoya doesn't miss the way his associates' hands tighten on the hilts of their weapons, and her fingers dance restlessly around the handle of her own blaster.

            "It appears that introductions are in order," Greef continues, when Din makes no move to respond. On Zoya's left, Cara smirks lightly, crossing one of her legs over her mount's back, the picture of calm ease. "It seems we've both provided a security detail."

            Still, none of them respond.

            Greef gestures towards the Crest. "I recommend the shock trooper guards the ship. These lava fields are lousy with Jawas."

            Zoya grimaces, remembering her last encounter with Jawas. Fucking nuisances.

            "She's coming with me," Din says, speaking up for the first time.

            Greef shifts uncomfortably. "But the town is now run by ex-Empire. If a Rebel Dropper is with us, they'll all get their hackles up."

            "She's coming." Din's tone leaves no room for argument, and Greef's jaw works as he battles with his pride.

            "Fine," he clips finally, mouth set. "Fine. At least cover your tattoo." He directs this at Cara. "No need to flaunt it."

            Cara looks down at her upper arm in what looks like barely concealed amusement, as if she's seeing the marking for the first time. Zoya resists the urge to snort and pulls her fingers through the tail end of her freshly braided hair, the loops messy and unprofessionally woven. The movement draws Greef's eyes, and his gaze catches on her prison tattoo, stark and harshly black against the skin that her shirt exposes.

            "Convict," he calls, as if he doesn't know her name. "You're practically begging for Imperial attention—for the Empire to arrest you—with those numbers uncovered."

            Zoya's head tilts as she looks down at him, eyes narrowed, one of her lips just barely curled in dislike. She knows Greef can see her expression, but she leans forward over the downward curve of the Burrg's spine. Slowly, she begins to pronounce, clear and loud enough that everyone can hear, "The Empire can suck my—"

            "Zoya." Din's voice is a warning.

            "Fine," she mutters.

            Greef's eyes dart between them before he spreads his hands, as if it's a gesture of peace. "Now," he says, "where is the little one?"

            Din raises his wrist to press a couple buttons on the panel installed onto his forearm. The child's hovering cradle whirrs softly as it moves forward, cutting cleanly through the air until it stops before Greef. The slim metal wings that close the child inside hiss as they peel back, revealing the creature. A thin brush of fuzz on the baby's head waves gently in the wind as it looks up at the Guild leader.

            Greef steps forward to take a closer look. "So, this little bogwing is what all the fuss was about."

            Din's hand lowers to the holster at his hip, preparing to fight as Greef lifts the child up out of the cradle. Zoya already holds one of her blades, twirling it between her fingers, eyes dark and hooded as she stares down the older man. Something she'd become quite deft at, whilst training to hunt down Din all that time ago, was hurtling blades through the air with deadly accuracy. Though it's been a while, she won't pass up on the chance for a bit of practice.

            "What a precious little creature," Greef says, unaware of the tension rippling through his adversaries. "I can see why you didn't want to harm a hair on its wrinkled little head." He places it carefully back within the cradle. Din relaxes. "Well, I'm glad this matter will be put to rest once and for all."

            Din presses something on his forearm once again, and the pram's doors close. Zoya doesn't sheathe her knife again until the child is back, resting in the air between her and Din. At the disappearance of her blade, Greef's men loosen their holds on their own weapons. One of them stares her way, and she catches his eye, allowing her lips to curl up into a taunting smirk.

            "The sun drops fast on Nevarro," Greef tells them. "We can walk for a spell, then camp out at the riverbank, then make our way into town at first light."

            For a moment, Din simply watches him, as if he's waiting for a catch. But none comes. So, with a glance to Kuiil, on his right, then to Zoya and Cara, on his left, he dips his head to Greef. "Lead the way."

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Greef Karga and his men lead them over blackened, rough ground that the Blurrgs lumber over with ease. Steam rises in twisting paths over the rocky earth, marking the lines where lava snakes, glowing and molten. The thinner rivers are sometimes almost invisible, save the steam twisting up from their surfaces, until one's boot scrapes against the rough edge. The sky is stained gray, wisps of clouds threaded in soft whorls across its curve, nearly blending into the light the sun emanates as it begins to sink below the horizon.

            Zoya shifts slightly on the bumpy spine of her Blurrg, which the thin pad draped across its back does little to soften, raking her eyes out across the lava fields. Something like trepidation skitters on unsteady feet down her arms, raising goosebumps that press up against her skin. Every noise makes her turn, scanning the landscape behind them, eyes flitting from Din to the child back to Din, anxiety strumming against her ribs.

            The umpteenth time she turns to look at the lava fields behind them, Din directs his Blurrg to walk closer to hers. "Do you see something?" he asks lowly.

            She shakes her head. "No. Feeling paranoid."

            The tilt of his head tells her what he won't say out loud, wary of Greef Karga and his men, walking only a short distance ahead of them. I've got your back.

            Zoya keeps her eyes locked onto his visor for a moment. And I have yours.

            Soon enough, the sun begins to delve behind the horizon, and Greef calls their party to a stop to set up camp. Once a fire is crackling in the midst of a circle of stones, flames licking up at the meat hung above it that's stuck through with a wooden pole, the group settles. It's clear where everyone's alliances are; Zoya, Din, Cara, Kuiil, and the child occupy one side of the fire, while Greef Karga's men litter themselves across the other.

            Greef himself is the only one who doesn't separate himself. He relaxes upon the ground on Din's other side, propping himself up on his elbow, watching the child curiously as Kuiil feeds him slivers of meat.

            Trying to tuck herself into an even smaller ball, Zoya shivers a little, unprepared for the chilly night. Din pretends not to notice, knowing that she wouldn't want to make it a big deal, but it's no accident when he shifts even closer to her—if it's possible—allowing her to nonchalantly curl herself into his side without attracting too much attention.

            The child babbles again as Kuiil gives it another piece of meat, drawing Greef's gaze once more from where it had flickered to Din and Zoya, noting the way they sit so close. The line between his brows smooths out as he gestures towards the creature. "I guess the little bugger's a carnivore," he says. "Never seen anything like it. They were ready to pay a king's ransom for that thing. Must be for some kind of highfalutin menagerie." He chuckles, but Din doesn't share his amusement.

            Hardening his voice and remaining hyperaware of Zoya pressed into his side, one hand's fingers laced through his and the other hand hooked around the bend of his arm, Din says flatly, "Let's go over the plan again."

            "We both enter the common house," Greef recites monotonously. "We show the client the bait. We join him at the table. And you kill him."

            "Tell me about his reinforcements."

            Greef releases a breath. "They're all ex-Empire. As soon as they lose their paycheck, pft, they'll all scatter."

            "And what if they don't?" Din presses.

            The Guild leader remains firm. "They will."

            "That's not good enough." Din unconsciously tightens his hold on Zoya's hand, hidden within the flickering shadows of the fire.

            "If, for argument's sake, a few of them don't realize that I'm their best path to alternative employment, and they elect to react impulsively, then these three fine Guild Hunters"—he gestures to his companions—"along with that battle-hardened shock trooper and your . . . antagonistic convict will cut down anyone who bucks."

            "How many will there be?" Din says.

            "No more than four," Greef tells him dismissively, pushing himself to his feet and stepping closer to the fire. "Him and his partner travel with, at most, a Fire Team. Trust me. Nothing can go wrong."

            Zoya's head lifts off Din's shoulder, and she squints, focusing on the Guild leader in confusion. "Who's his partner?"

            Before Greef can answer, an enormous winged beast descends from the sky with the scream of a devil, snatching the meat out of his hands and sending him staggering.

            The camp explodes into movement and blaster fire.

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was it din that braided zoya's hair before they reached nevarro? maybe