The sterile corridors of the Republic cruiser stretch endlessly, the hum of the ship's engines a dull, ever-present vibration underfoot. Obi-Wan walks beside Jynna Northender, his arm hovering near her shoulder, ready to catch her if she falters. Jynna hates it. She hates the way he watches her, the way his concern feels like a weight pressing down on her chest. Her gait is uneven, her side aching from the debris that had pinned her hours earlier, but she keeps moving. She won't show weakness—not to him. Not to anyone.

As they approach the medbay, the doors slide open with a soft hiss, revealing the sterile white interior. Clones move efficiently, tending to their injured comrades. Jynna can feel their eyes on her as she steps inside, their silent curiosity an unwelcome presence. She straightens her back, ignoring the throbbing pain in her ribs.

"Let's get you checked out," Obi-Wan says gently, his voice steady and reassuring. He nods to a med droid, who approaches with a datapad in its mechanical hand.

"I'm fine," Jynna mutters, her tone clipped.

Obi-Wan doesn't argue, but the look he gives her makes it clear he doesn't believe her.

"Humor me," He says, gesturing for her to sit on one of the empty examination tables.

She complies reluctantly, lowering herself onto the table with a wince. The med droid begins its scans, the soft hum of its instruments filling the space. Jynna grits her teeth, refusing to meet Obi-Wan's gaze.

Outside the medbay, Anakin Skywalker leans against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He had seen her hobbling through the corridor, her face pale, her movements stiff with pain. Part of him had wanted to smirk, to revel in the sight of her weakened and vulnerable. She deserved it, didn't she? After all the lies, the manipulation, the games she played—this was justice.

But then Obi-Wan's voice echoes in his mind, a memory from years ago: "Compassion is central to a Jedi's life, Anakin. Without it, we are no better than the darkness we seek to overcome."

The words gnaw at him, sharp and unwelcome. He doesn't want to care about her. He doesn't want to feel anything but anger and disdain. But the image of her, struggling to stand, her defiance dimmed but not extinguished, lingers in his mind. With a frustrated sigh, he pushes himself off the wall and steps into the medbay.

The sight of him catches Jynna off guard. She glances up as he enters, her expression guarded, her eyes narrowing slightly. He doesn't belong here, and the fact that he's here anyway sets her on edge.

"Skywalker," She says, her voice flat,"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Anakin crosses the room with deliberate steps, his arms still crossed. He stops a few feet from her, his blue eyes unreadable. For a moment, he doesn't say anything, and the tension in the room thickens.

"I just wanted to see how you're doing," He says finally, his tone begrudging but genuine.

Jynna blinks, caught off guard by his words. Of all the things she expected him to say, that wasn't it. She studies him, her gaze sharp, trying to discern his angle.

"I'm fine," She says after a beat, her tone edged with suspicion, "Why do you care?"

Anakin stiffens, his jaw tightening.

"I don't," He says quickly, his voice sharper than he intended. He exhales, forcing himself to soften, "I mean... I'm just following up. That's all."

Jynna raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into something that's not quite a smile.

"How thoughtful," She says, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Anakin bristles, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He can feel the anger bubbling beneath the surface, the urge to snap back at her. But he doesn't. He bites down on the words, forcing himself to stay calm.

"You're welcome," He says curtly, his voice tight.

Jynna tilts her head, studying him with a faint smirk. She can see the effort it's taking him to hold back, to keep his temper in check. And for some reason, it amuses her.

"Well," She says, leaning back slightly on the examination table, "I'll be sure to tell Obi-Wan how kind you've been."

Anakin's eyes flash, and for a moment, she thinks he's going to lose it. But he doesn't. Instead, he takes a step back, his expression hardening.

"Just... take care of yourself," He says, his voice low. He turns on his heel and strides toward the door without waiting for a response.

As the doors slide shut behind him, Jynna exhales slowly, her smirk fading. The room feels quieter now, the tension dissipating but leaving something else in its wake. She doesn't understand why he came, why he bothered to ask about her. And she doesn't like the way it makes her feel—like a crack in the armor she's worked so hard to maintain.

Obi-Wan steps closer, his expression soft but concerned.

"Anakin can be... complicated," He says gently, "But his heart is in the right place."

Jynna doesn't respond. She looks away, her gaze fixed on the far wall as the med droid finishes its scans. The ache in her ribs is nothing compared to the turmoil in her mind.

She doesn't want to think about Anakin, about his sudden, reluctant compassion. She doesn't want to think about Obi-Wan, about the way he watches her with unshakable trust. She doesn't want to think about anything.

But the thoughts linger, no matter how hard she tries to push them away.

The cruiser's corridors feel too tight, the air too still, as Jynna makes her way to the mess hall. Her side aches with every step, a dull reminder of her injury. Her ribs protest even the smallest movement, but she presses on, her expression neutral. She won't show weakness, especially not here, surrounded by clones and Jedi alike.

She hates that she's thinking about him. Anakin Skywalker. His face, his voice, the way he had shown up in the medbay with some semblance of concern—it gnaws at her. It doesn't fit, doesn't align with the fiery hatred they've hurled at each other since they first met. And yet, there he was, checking on her like he actually cared.

The thought makes her stomach turn. But she's decided: she'll repay his fleeting moment of kindness with her own, even if it feels like swallowing glass. It's the game she's playing, after all. Keep the mask in place. Keep them guessing.

The mess hall is quiet at this hour, only a few clones scattered at the far tables. Jynna moves to the food dispensers, her movements slow and deliberate. She picks up a tray, the mundane task grounding her in the moment. She's so focused on ignoring the throbbing in her side that she doesn't notice him until he's right beside her.

"Jynna," Anakin says, his voice even, though there's an edge to it, as there always is.

She stiffens, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. His expression is hard to read, a mix of curiosity and something darker.

"Skywalker," She replies, her voice light but strained.

They stand side by side, silent as the food dispensers hum and clatter. Anakin grabs a ration pack and places it on his tray, his movements sharp. Jynna forces herself to grab her own meal, ignoring the way his presence sets her teeth on edge.

"Feeling better?" He asks finally, his tone neutral, as if the question costs him nothing.

She glances at him, her lips twitching into a faint, almost forced smile.

"I've been worse," She says simply. It's the closest thing to honesty she's given him.

He nods, his jaw tightening slightly as if he's unsure how to respond, "Good."

They walk to a nearby table, their steps awkwardly in sync. The silence between them is heavy, the tension almost tangible. They sit across from each other, the space between them feeling both too close and too far.

Jynna pokes at her food, her appetite nonexistent. She can feel his eyes on her, studying her, dissecting her every move. It's infuriating, but she pushes down the urge to snap at him. Instead, she forces herself to speak.

"Thank you," She says quietly, her voice low, "For earlier."

Anakin blinks, caught off guard by the words. For a moment, he looks almost human, the hardness in his expression softening just slightly. But the moment passes quickly, and he nods, his shoulders tense, "Don't mention it."

The air between them feels like a knife's edge. They are two predators circling each other, wary but unwilling to strike. Every instinct in Jynna's body screams at her to lash out, to break the silence with the sharpness of her words. But she doesn't. She can't. Not after what he did.

Anakin, for his part, is just as conflicted. Sitting across from her feels wrong, like balancing on a crumbling ledge. He hates the way she unsettles him, the way her sharp tongue and sharper gaze challenge him at every turn. But what's worse is the faint flicker of compassion he still feels, the echo of Obi-Wan's teachings that refuses to die.

The moment stretches on, tense but oddly calm, until Anakin's thoughts shift.

He remembers the red saber.

It cuts through his mind like a lightning bolt, the memory of her drawing that weapon, her defiance etched into every movement. The sight of it had chilled him to his core, a reminder of everything the Jedi fought against. The saber wasn't just a weapon; it was a declaration. A symbol of the darkness that lingered within her.

His fingers curl into fists under the table, his appetite forgotten. How could he have let himself forget? How could he have let her lull him into this false sense of civility? She's the enemy. She's always been the enemy.

"You're awfully quiet," Jynna says, her voice breaking through his thoughts. She raises an eyebrow, her expression carefully neutral, "Not like you."

Anakin's gaze snaps to hers, his blue eyes cold and sharp.

"Just thinking," He says, his tone clipped.

She tilts her head slightly, her curiosity genuine despite herself, "About what?"

"About you," He says, the words heavier than they should be.

The tension between them tightens, the air growing thick with unspoken accusations. Jynna shifts in her seat, her instincts screaming at her to leave, to walk away before this fragile truce shatters. But she doesn't move.

"Should I be flattered?" She asks, her tone light but tinged with sarcasm.

Anakin doesn't smile. His gaze hardens, his jaw tightening, "Not exactly."

The words hang between them, sharp and cutting. Jynna feels the mask slipping, her temper flaring as she meets his gaze head-on, "Then what, Skywalker? What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying," He begins, his voice low and steady, "that I don't forget."

Her heart skips a beat, but she keeps her expression calm, "Forget what?"

"That saber," He says, his voice like a blade, "The one you shouldn't have."

Jynna's stomach twists, but she leans back in her chair, her smirk faint but defiant.

"You're mistaken," She says smoothly, "I've only ever used the saber Obi-Wan gave me."

"Don't lie to me," Anakin snaps, his voice rising, "I know what I saw."

The heat between them ignites, the fragile civility crumbling under the weight of their hatred. Jynna feels her pulse quicken, her anger bubbling to the surface. She wants to fight, to lash out, to tear through the thin veneer of politeness they've both been clinging to.

But she doesn't.

Instead, she leans forward, her gaze locked onto his.

"Believe whatever you want, Skywalker," She says, her voice a dangerous whisper, "But don't mistake your paranoia for truth."

Anakin's fists tighten, his breath sharp and uneven. Every instinct screams at him to call her out, to demand answers, to end this charade once and for all.

His blue eyes lock onto hers, sharp and piercing, the storm inside him brewing to a dangerous peak. He takes a step closer, the space between them charged with tension that hums louder than the ship's engines. Every muscle in his body is taut, his hands twitching at his sides as if they're searching for something—control, perhaps, though it's long gone.

"Paranoia?" He says, his voice low, dangerously quiet, "You think this is paranoia?"

Jynna straightens in her chair, her chin lifting in defiance. She doesn't flinch, doesn't back down, even as he towers over her.

"I think you're seeing things that aren't there," She says coolly, though her voice carries the faintest tremor of frustration.

Anakin leans forward, his hands bracing against the table, his face inches from hers. His breath is sharp, his gaze unrelenting.

"I know what I saw," He growls, "A red saber. Sith. Darkness. All of it radiating off of you."

Her hands grip the edge of the table, her knuckles white. The mask she's so carefully crafted threatens to crack under the weight of his accusations.

"You don't know what you're talking about," She snaps, her voice sharp.

"I don't know what I'm talking about?" He echoes, his voice rising, cutting through the quiet of the mess hall.

The clones at the far end glance their way but quickly look away, sensing the storm about to erupt.

"No," Jynna says, standing abruptly. Pain shoots through her side, but she ignores it, her anger giving her strength, "You don't. You don't know me. You don't know anything about me."

"I know enough," Anakin says, his tone dripping with disdain. He steps closer, his fists clenched, his presence overwhelming, "I know you're hiding something. I know you're lying to Obi-Wan. And I know you don't belong here."

Jynna's jaw tightens, her breathing sharp and uneven.

"And what about you?" She spits, "What makes you so worthy? Your arrogance? Your temper? Your inability to follow the very code you claim to uphold?"

His eyes narrow, his temper flaring.

"Don't you dare lecture me about the Jedi Code," He snaps, "You don't even know what it means to be a Jedi."

Jynna's fists tighten at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. The fire inside her burns hotter, threatening to consume her.

"And you do?" She shoots back, "You're nothing more than a hypocrite, hiding behind a title you don't deserve."

Anakin takes another step closer, his voice rising to match hers, "At least I earned it! At least I didn't slither my way into Obi-Wan's trust with lies and manipulation."

Her breathing quickens, her chest heaving as his words cut deeper than she's willing to admit.

"You don't know anything about why I'm here," She snaps, her voice shaking with anger.

"Then tell me," He demands, his voice like a whip, "Why the hell would someone like you want to be Obi-Wan's apprentice?"

The question slams into her like a blow, shattering the last vestiges of her composure. Her vision blurs with rage, her breath catching in her throat. The fire inside her explodes, and before she can stop herself, the words tumble out.

"Because he's my father!"

The shout reverberates through the room, silencing everything. The weight of her admission hangs in the air, heavy and unrelenting. For a moment, the entire galaxy seems to hold its breath.

Anakin freezes, his world tilting violently on its axis. The words echo in his mind, over and over, louder than the blood pounding in his ears. His fists loosen, his arms falling limply to his sides as he stares at her, uncomprehending.

Jynna stands before him, her chest heaving, her face pale but defiant. Her dark eyes burn with anger and something else—something raw and unguarded. The mask is gone, shattered in an instant, leaving her exposed.

Anakin's mind races, the pieces of the puzzle snapping together in ways he never expected. Obi-Wan—his master, his mentor, the man who embodies the Jedi Code—has a daughter. A daughter.

But no. That can't be right. Obi-Wan would never abandon his child, would never leave her to fend for herself in the galaxy. Which means...

He doesn't know.

The realization hits Anakin like a physical blow. Obi-Wan has no idea. The sense of familiarity, the unspoken bond he shares with Jynna—it all makes sense now. And yet, it doesn't.

He stares at her, his mind spinning, the air between them charged with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe. She looks back at him, her expression defiant but trembling at the edges.

Neither of them speaks.

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, as the weight of the revelation settles over them. Jynna's chest rises and falls, her hands shaking at her sides. Anakin's face is unreadable, his blue eyes dark and stormy.

The room feels like it's about to implode, the tension crackling like static electricity.

And then, without another word, Jynna turns and walks away, her steps unsteady but determined.

Anakin doesn't follow. He stands there, rooted to the spot, his mind a whirlwind of questions and accusations, of anger and confusion.

The words ring in his ears, louder than anything else:

"Because he's my father."

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