How many days had it been? Kiani tried to remember the rhythmic pulse of the echoing silence in the windowless room, a counterpoint to the frantic drum of her thoughts. Time, like a mischievous sprite, danced and twirled within the confines of this concrete tomb, refusing to be pinned down. The endless grey walls, the sterile, unforgiving duracrete slab beneath her, offered no visual markers, no hint of the passage of days. She was adrift in a sea of sameness, each moment an indistinguishable ripple in the vast expanse of her captivity.

The room's chill, a constant companion, seeped into her bones, a tangible reminder of her vulnerability. A pillow, a blanket – luxuries she hadn't considered until now. Being a captive didn't come with such indulgences. She shivered, not just from the cold, but from the deep-seated fear that had burrowed itself into her soul. Each breath felt heavy, each heartbeat a drumbeat of dread.

She sat there, knuckles white as she gripped the rough edges of the slab, trying to anchor her mind, to focus on anything that might pierce the suffocating monotony. They had taken her lightsabers, backpack, and flightsuit, leaving her only with her undergarments for clothing.

A grim smile touched her lips, a flicker of defiance against the encroaching despair. If they had captured her any time before her fifteenth lifeday, she would have been a child, helpless prey. But now, she was a Jedi, a survivor, forged in the fires of hardship. This wasn't just a prison; it was a crucible. And she would emerge, stronger, more resilient, ready to reclaim her destiny. The thought, though fragile, ignited a spark within her, a tiny ember of hope against the overwhelming darkness.

"First thing they will do, Padawan, is deprive you of your ability to connect to the Force. Most of the more familiar sentient races have at least one or two ways to do this. Then they will deprive you of your fundamental needs: food, water, and rest. This is to deaden your resolve, not to answer any questions about you and your mission." Master Karna's voice, though calm, carried the weight of grim experience.

Kiani, her mind already a whirlwind of calculations, felt a flicker of something akin to amusement. Her mind was in good shape, and her resolve, forged in the crucible of her people's ceaseless struggle for survival, was unyielding. She knew what it was like to go without food for days, even though she hadn't gone a day or two since being taken in by the Jedi Order. The hardships her nomadic people faced were daily challenges, not occasional trials. They were the stuff of survival.

The door opened, and Kiani, instead of leaping to her feet in a defiant display, remained seated on the edge of the duracrete slab. Her gaze, sharp and unwavering, met the newcomer's. It wasn't a challenge, not yet. It was a silent calculation, a weighing of options. This wasn't a battle to be won with bravado, but with patience and cunning. She would play the game their way, for a time. She would let them think they had won, before the true reckoning. A slow, deliberate smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. The game had begun.

Dorov walks in and eyes the Dantari provocatively. "I like seeing you this way. It isn't a bad sight at all."

"Dorov! I don't recall permitting you to speak to the captive." The statement comes from a deep voice outside the room, filled with power and authority. When he enters the room, Kiani can feel his presence emanating and filling the room, *without* the Force. 

 A tangible weight, a low hum of power, presses down on her. The tall human-looking man, dressed from the waist down in black pants and boots with a flowing skirt-like cloth cascading from a wide silver and black belt around his waist, materialized in the doorway. His entire upper torso was bare, his well-defined muscular body a canvas of intricate, black and white Sith tattoos, even his shaven head adorned with symbols. He moved with an unnerving grace, the very air around him seeming to shift and swirl as he approached. Kiani felt a cold dread, a sense of being trapped in a spider's web, her every breath a calculated risk.

"So, you're one of the Jedi who slew four of my men?" He said, his voice a low rumble, as he moved to face her.

Kiani remained silent, yet she looked the man squarely in his amber eyes. A flicker of something – defiance, perhaps, or quiet steel – crossed her face, hidden beneath the mask of stoicism.

He shook his head with a smirk. "Oh, this one is going to be a challenge, Dorov. I think she has had some training in this style of interrogation." He said with a hint of amusement, but the amusement felt brittle, like ice on a winter's day.

"Seems so, General." Dorov replied. His voice was smooth, almost seductive, yet laced with a dangerous edge. "If you wish, I can soften her up before that *actual* interrogation." He added with a wicked grin, a flash of something predatory glinting in his eyes.

The Sith General raised his hand, his index finger extended, waving it from side to side. "No. Dorov. No. This Jedi is mine to deal with. You and your depraved appetites can be satisfied elsewhere." His words were sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. The implication hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the earlier, almost playful tone.

Kiani smirked at Dorov. He had made his thoughts known to her as he brought her into the city, claiming her from the bogus resistance camp. He was a leech, a pervert, and his intentions were as clear as the crimson stains on his armor. He'd intentionally groped about her body, under the not-so-veiled guise of searching for hidden weapons, in front of his men. She hadn't made a sound, choosing to endure the indignity rather than incite a more thorough, and humiliating, search.

"What so funny, Jetti?" the Feeorin growled, his voice like gravel grinding against stone. His eyes, a disturbing shade of amber, bored into her.

"The fact that you think you could *please* me in *that* way, Dorov," Kiani said, her voice a cool, controlled counterpoint to his anger. A hint of disdain, like frost forming on a windowpane, clung to her words.

"You think I am not up to the task, little girl?" Dorov spat out the words, venomously. He took a step toward her, his movements like a predator stalking its prey.

"I know you're not, Feeorin," she retorted, her voice unwavering. The tension in the air crackled, thick and heavy.

"Why is that, Jetti whore?" he snarled, the word "whore" dripping with contempt.

"Because Dantari women only mate with real men." Kiani replied with a stern look and a defiant tone in her voice.

Kiani's words hung in the air, defiant and unyielding despite the blow that sent her sprawling to the cold, unforgiving floor. Her chest rose and fell steadily, a silent testament to her resilience. The pain from the slap was sharp, but it only fueled the fire burning behind her eyes—a reminder that she would not break so easily.

The Sith general's voice was calm yet laced with deadly promise. "Dorov, you will leave now, or you will face consequences far worse than a slap." His eyes, dark and intense, bore into the Feeorin with predatory patience. The air grew heavier, thick with the threat of violence, but the general's control was absolute.

Dorov hesitated for a moment, his jaw clenched, then sneered and took a step back, his eyes darting between the general and Kiani. The Feeorin's face twisted with rage and humiliation, but he knew better than to challenge the Sith's authority outright.

Kiani, still on the floor, refused to look away from the Sith general. Her expression was one of calm, unwavering resolve. Despite the pain, she kept her posture rigid, embodying the strength of her people and her training. She knew this was only a moment in a longer game—one where patience and endurance were her greatest weapons.

The Sith general's gaze softened just slightly, a flicker of respect—or perhaps calculation—passing through his eyes. "Get her up," he ordered, his voice low and commanding. "Let's see what she's truly made of."

And as the guards moved to obey, Kiani prepared herself internally. Whatever torment was to come, she would endure—and survive. Her mind, her spirit, remained unbroken. This was only the beginning.