CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE.

THE EYE

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DIN HAD A decision to make, though he wasn't sure he could do it in time.

The Mandalorian Code had been both his answer and his defeat in the many years Din had stalked through this galaxy. It kept him grounded, sustained, anchored to a single purpose lest he float away. For so long, the Code was never his enemy. In many ways, it still wasn't, continuing to be his salvation in every way except a few.

Now, Din watched from the entrance to the officer's mess, a legion of his adversaries cheering around him, and felt his stomach drop as Mayfeld dealt a killing blow.

"I can't." the man whispered desperately. He was referring to the terminal they needed to access located in the corner of the mess hall, which now seemed to be blocked by a former commanding officer of the reformed prisoner. "We have to abort. I'm sorry." the man turned to go, but Din, half his body numb to the revelation, grabbed for Mayfeld's arm, holding on tight.

"No-" he said. "I can't. If we don't get those coordinates I'll lose the kids forever." Mayfeld frowned at him, and Din could understand why. "Give me the data stick."

Mayfeld shook his head. "It's not gonna work." Din was just about ready to blast something, his insides eating away at him in desperation. Mayfeld paused in his explanation and smiled to the troopers behind Din. The Mandalorians sweat caused an itch to spread across his forehead. He was tired of wearing a mask that wasn't his, tired of having this weight on top of him. Tired of waiting to save Tess and Grogu, to see if it was even possible.

Mayfeld at last continued, but Din wished he hadn't spoken at all. "In order to access the network, the terminal has to scan your face." Din was suddenly reminded of the first time he had ever removed his helmet unwillingly, death grasping at his limbs like a long-lost lover, the claws of IG-11 attempting to save his life. His body had been coated in blood and sweat and perhaps even some tears. Din thought that was the first time he had ever felt truly and completely helpless. He remembered putting his life in that droid's hands, hot air on his face and the first puncture of shame dipping into his skull.

Then Din thought of the times he'd revoked the Code after that, again and again and again. He thought of Tess, and how disappointed she would be if she knew what kind of man he was before meeting her. What would she think of him now? What would she want him to do?

The truth was, Din had no idea. Tess was as unpredictable as a storm, which he'd thought so often in her company. Would she condemn him for trying to get them back? Or would she scold him for not doing everything in his power to protect her and Grogu? Whatever she would say (or not say, now that he thought about it), Din was sure of one thing: Tess Oprin wouldn't give up on the things she cared about. Not now. Not ever.

"Give it to me." Din said, taking the device before Mayfeld protested, and before Din could change his mind. He walked into the lounge, every step feeling a little closer to sinking into the ground and never coming back up. A group of Imperials sat at one of the tables, and he tried to ignore them.

He tried to ignore all of them.

Din Djarin kept his mind completely blank as he strode up to the terminal, a chunky old thing, and began the process of finding his kids. When the bright grid of lights sprang across his helmet, Din took a deep breath, letting the air push against his rib cage, drowning the permanent ache across his chest, the voice warning him to turn back around and get the hell out of there.

He ignored it.

For Grogu, he thought, for Tess.

Then Din Djarin lifted his helmet off his head,  and let the world see him as he was.

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"Vanth," Tess whispered. "That's impossible." It wasn't. She knew it wasn't, because the mercenary had just told her as much, but still she refused to believe it. Tess' idea of who Vanth was came with images of warm summer sands, a compassionate gaze turned towards her. Vanth meant comfort, perhaps even a home at one point.

This man was none of these things.

"After my brother and I liberated Mos Pelgo," Cyr explained. "He and I had...differing opinions on what to do next," He was kneeling before her, smiling, almost cordial. "That stinking pile of rubble was never my home, never where I wanted to die. But Cobb? Cobb ate, slept, and breathed that place. To him, Mos Pelgo was everything. So I left, knowing I needed to find somewhere else where I could truly belong."

Tess said nothing. Her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth, her heart ready to burst.

"And look where it led me, back to where I ran from." Cyr laughed, a hollow sound. He sat, retracting the hand Tess never shook. "Tell me: was Mos Pelgo ever home for you?"

Such a simple question, such a complicated answer. Not only could Tess not speak, but his words seemed to pull taut a rope coming from inside her. Mos Pelgo, Tatooine, these places which sheltered her for 15 years, tortured her for 5. This man had run from it, just like she always wanted to, when her willpower was little more than ashes. When she laid awake at night, too scared —though she wouldn't admit it— to close her eyes, she thought of getting as far away from the sand as possible, to a place where there were only storms and cold and clouds.

"It wasn't, was it?"

Tess hated him, she hated him so much she wanted to scream, to throw something. She would even call on those cosmic abilities which brought her so much discomfort if only to blast him through the wall. Anything to make him stop talking.

"I don't blame you, of course, Tatooine was always a place people went to die." Cyr was enjoying himself. "But you had already died, I take it? And Mos Pelgo was just a place for you to disappear."

"No," Tess insisted, but inside she screamed the opposite. "Go away."

"No, no, Tess," Cyr said. "You're not getting off that easy. I can tell you knew Cobb, maybe even cared for him, and that's treason enough in my books."

She looked straight into his eyes, into that scarred face. Now that she knew, it was impossible to miss the similarities. The same chiselled jaw, salt and pepper hair, but their eyes were different. In the Marshal you could always tell what he was feeling from his eyes, no matter what expression he wore. But Cyr's were hot coals, blackened and blazing, hiding the truth underneath.

"You were jealous of him," she whispered. "That's why you left." Cyr leaned back as she spoke. It surprised Tess too, the amount of conviction she was able to muster while the rest of her decayed. "Because he cared, and people loved him for it." She straightened, some foreign strength seemed to simmer beneath her skin. "And you might have done the same as him, gone through the same as him, but you were never going to be him."

There was something stirring beneath Tess' tongue, crackling, sending sparks across her body like a circuit unit coming to life. Her eyes widened, the numbness giving way to a quiver. It wasn't energy, it wasn't even her own, it was something else that couldn't be described as anything except sureness come to life.

It was the Force.

"You hated him for it. You hated the world," She leaned forward, mimicking the prideful grin he'd given her. "You were too much of a coward to make anything of yourself, so you ran away."

Cyr grabbed her by the collar of her shirt, lifting her off the ground with ease, slammed her into the metal so hard she cried out as a heated pulse flashed across her temples. "And what have you ever done but hide? Hide behind your fancy Mandalorian friend? Hide behind those special little powers of yours? Take all that away and you know what I see?" She whimpered as the barrel of his gun pressed into her cheek. There was no comprehension in his eyes, only senseless rage, and for a moment she thought he would shoot.

"I see nothing." He bit out. "You're no one, and once the Empire's done with you, you're going to die as no one." He let go, and Tess fell back, legs trailing to the floor, but not before Cyr Vanth slapped her across the face, blaster still in his hand.

Tess heard her skin tear apart more than she felt it, hot, sticky blood dripping from the cut, a pulsing ache blossoming from above her eyebrow to her cheek. Vanth stepped back, breathing hard, and a clang reverberated through the cell. Tess forced herself to look up, gulping in air.

He'd dropped the blaster, hands shaking in front of his face as if he just realized he had them. She stared at him, and he seemed to crumple under the pressure of her gaze. Tess snarled, blood coating her lips, a shock of colour against the paleness of her face.

When she raised a small, calloused hand, there was no thought behind her actions, not even the slightest inclination to what she was doing.

Ahsoka Tano had described the Force as a song once, but as Tess called upon the so-called energy field, that wasn't what she saw. No, the Force was a faulty machine, made up of hot wires and rusted cogs. Gears turned with a slow burst of energy, unlocking inside of her as if pried open by deft fingers. Even as a mechanic, there was no fixing this pile of bolts, screws, and everything in between. The Force was the one thing Tess could never understand.

Her scream was guttural, and Cyr matched the outrage as he was flung back, hitting the other side of the cell with a similar strength he'd shown Tess. Just as he landed and the last of her power drained into the cold metal, the door to the cell burst open, four stormtroopers running inside. There was no hesitation as they grabbed both of Tess' arms and twisted them behind her. Her feet barely touched the floor, and an soldier went to check on Cyr.

The female officer she had seen earlier with Grogu stalked into the room, giving the near limp girl an indignant sniff. She then turned to Cyr, who had a hand to his mouth covering a burst lip, eyes piercing the side of Tess' head. She didn't give him the satisfaction of her attention.

"The girl is required." the woman told the mercenary. It was the sort of commanding tone a parent used with a petulant child, and it seemed Tess wasn't the only one to hear the dismissal in her words. Cyr Vanth scowled, nodding but not making any attempt to move. The officers didn't wait for him, dragging Tess out and away from the Marshal's traitorous kin.

As they led her to where Moff Gideon undoubtedly waited, Tess stared down at her hands, positioned awkwardly near her shoulders. They seemed to tremble of their own accord, as if the nerves were no longer connected to the rest of Tess' wiring. But power seeped into every pore of Tess' body, an electric fire she'd come to despise with every fibre of her being. Memories flashed so quickly through her mind that the images started to blur. First it was her mother and father, turning around the corner in the streets of Tatooine. The woman who helped amputate Tess' leg. The children crying on the barge as Tuskens attacked. The Marshal's warm touch on her shoulder. Jo's bright eyes. The dragon destroying her forge, the Mandalorian watching as Tess lost it all, the green creature touching her leg.

The rest of it swam through, flitting, flying, firing until only the petrifying emptiness remained.

This was what the Empire did—to her, and to the rest of the galaxy.

On the main bridge, troopers and officers went about their business, but there in the centre, Moff Gideon stood with his back to her, his focus on the glitching form of a hologram sprouting from the middle of the console. Tess almost looked away at the sight of him, back to her hands and the thought of before.

But he had heard them come in, and he heard the crunch of Tess' knee against the floor as she was dropped. It took everything to stand back up.

"We've had a transmission," his voice was light, as if sharing a joke with an old friend. "From your Mandalorian." Then he turned, and the image he'd been staring at came into dizzying focus. The floor dropped out from beneath Tess. The only reason she stayed upright was the image staring back at her. The familiar glinting Beskar, the helmet which seemed to emote more than a bare face ever could.

"Din," she breathed, loud enough for her ears only. Because he was hers, her companion, her protector, her guardian. Him and Grogu, the first and last thing Tess thought about each day she was stuck here.

The hologram started.

"Moff Gideon," His modulated voice rung out through the quiet room, and his broad frame reflected in Tess' eyes like the purest of crystal. "You have some things I want. You may think you have some idea what you are in possession of..." the Moff looked at Tess, but her attention was locked on the flickering blue screen, a rumble of satisfaction echoing through her chest.

The eye of the storm.

"But you do not," Tess raised a brow knowingly. "Soon, they will be back with me," Tess dared to step closer to the table, and the soldiers let her. Her callused hands rested on the edge of the metal, face devoid of all emotion, numb, but in her eyes was a hurricane that Moff Gideon wanted to run from.

"They mean more to me than you will ever know."

The transmission ended. Tess sighed, and her eyes rose carefully to Gideon standing across from her. He frowned when he saw her, saw the calm in her face like she had been carved from marble. Tess looked around the room stiffly, this battered girl who they had taken everything from. Moff Gideon did not move, the silence in the girl whose screams he remembered catching in his throat.

Tess Oprin turned back to her captor, raised her head up high, and smiled as wide as she could.

"You can't stop this."

That was all she said before Tess turned around to be escorted back to her cell.

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Din had very little patience left as the doors to the Imerial ship opened, and the three passengers inside raised their arms in surrender. He kept his blaster level with his chest, Beskar spear at the ready on his back.

Two of the men were pilots, younger than Din by at least a decade, quivering only slightly at the sight of the Mandalorian and imminent death. But Din was not interested in these men, he had eyes only for the odd one out. He was wearing the attire of a scientist, and sweat dripped off his neatly styled hair in buckets. Dr. Pershing was shaking like they were in the middle of a blizzard, clearly never trained on how to keep his emotions in check.

It took a tremendous amount of self-control to keep from strangling him right then and there.

"Before you make a mistake," one of the pilots said. "This is Dr. Pershing."

Din gritted his teeth. "We've met. Are they alive?"

"Yes," Pershing replied in two quick breaths. "They're on the cruiser—" He gasped as the pilot who'd spoken took a blaster from behind and held it to his head. Din gripped his own weapon tighter. Cara appeared beside him, cocking her gun. Her own self-restraint was a lot less refined.

"Stay back, Dropper." one of them mocked. Cara took another step forward, her finger jumping against the trigger.

The weaponless pilot cut in. "Easy, pal. Okay?" The muscle in Cara's jaw flexed. "I'm not with him, we can work something out—" It was too late as his partner shot him straight in the head. Pershing yelped, hands flailing against the pilot.

"Drop your weapon." Cara told him. A flicker of unease passed across his face. Good, Din thought.

The pilots next words were less steady. "No. No, you listen to me. This is a top-tier target of the New Republic," Din sucked in as much air as he could. " This is a clone engineer, and if they find out he's dead because of you, you're gonna wish you never left Alderaan," The pilot chuckled. "I saw the tear. You wanna know what else I saw?"

Wrong move, Din thought, his patience pulling away from like a loose thread to a sweater.

"I saw your planet destroyed," Cara let him talk, though Din couldn't understand why. "I was on the Death Star."

"Which one?" She asked.

The pilot laughed mockingly. "You think you're funny? Do you know how many millions were killed on those bases?"

"Drop your blaster."

"As the galaxy cheered?"

"Last chance."

Din was ready to finish this.

"Destroying your planet was a small price to pay to rid the galaxy of terrorism."

A crack rang throughout the room.

Pershing screamed. Red pulsed through Din's vision as the pilot fell backwards, a gaping hole smoking from the centre of his forehead. Din stared after Cara as she exited the room without another word.

After what had just happened, he couldn't help thinking of Tess. The way she bottled up the truth of her past, the memories too sharp to speak aloud. He had seen that same jaw flex at random intervals, the downcast eyes. Cara was hardened to stone, uncrackable, when it came to Alderaan. Just like Tess on Tatooine.

Stop, he thought, focus on the mission at hand. Din tucked his gloved fingers into the palm of his hand, tightening under the leather.

Dr. Pershing whimpered as the Mandalorian turned, and screamed when his collar was seized.

This was step one. The first leap to getting them back. And Din Djarin had run out of patience.

Step two would not be easy, but there was no other way.

Bo Katan and her partner sat in one corner of the dilapidated pub, their helmets by their sides —Din still bristled, his own protection seeming the squeeze the top of his head. The one named Koska Reeves turned to look at them, but Bo kept her cup at her lips.

It was only Boba and Din going to see them, but now Din thought perhaps it would have been better to bring everyone.

They started towards the two, and finally Bo looked up.

"I need your help." Din said.

Bo settled her hands on her thighs, and Koska leant against the table. "Not all Mandalorians are bounty hunters. Some of us serve a higher purpose."

"They took the kids." Din told her. Bo sat straight.

Her voice was stiff as she asked. "Who?"

"Moff Gideon."

The spark died out from Bo's eyes. "You'll never find him." They turned back to their meal. Din ignored the jolt in his chest at the possibility that she was right, he was used to the ache now.

Boba turned to him. "We don't need these two. Let's get outta here."

Din noticed the others from the corner of his eye, and paused when Bo moved back to the side.

"You are not a Mandalorian." she told Boba.

"Never said I was." Boba replied. Din's hand spread to his holster.

"I didn't know sidekicks were allowed to talk." Koska said. Boba chuckled, which was not going to help the situation. It was made infinitely worse as Boba stepped towards the Mandalorian woman.

"Well, if that isn't the Quacta calling the Stifling slimy," Koska got up, stepping from foot to foot. "Easy there, little one."

"Or you'll be talking through the window of a bacta tank." Koska replied.

Din opened his mouth to speak, but Bo beat him to it. "All right, easy. Save it for the Imps." Koska smirked, but sat back down.

Din cut in. "We have his coordinates."

"You can bring me to Moff Gideon?"

"The Moff has a light cruiser," Din replied. "It could be helpful in your effort to regain Mandalore."

Boba said. "You gotta be kidding me. Mandalore?"

Din wanted to scream that Mandalore was the least of their worries. All that pushed through his mind was an image of Tess and Grogu, imprisoned, beaten, alone, with Moff Gideon and that mercenary standing over them.

"The Empire turned that planet to glass." Boba continued.

"You are a disgrace to your armour." Bo told him.

"This armour belonged to my father."

"Don't you mean your donor?"

Stop, Din could feel the tension rise inside him, inside all of them. Fighting would do nothing but prolong their rescue, and give the moff enough time to escape Din's grasp with his kids yet again.

"Careful, princess." Boba stepped forward. The two women stood up.

"You are a clone," Bo said. "I've heard your voice thousands of times.

"Mine might be the last one you hear." Koska lunged at Boba, throwing an arm to hit him across the helmet. Boba countered, grabbing her arm and pulling her to the left. He let go just as she crashed into an accompanying table, slamming to the ground. Boba let his tripwire loose, and it wrapped around Koska's outstretched wrist. They both strained against each other, and Din could do nothing but watch.

Koska laboured against the wire using both hands, pulling Boba forward and slamming a knee into his stomach. Her rockets flared, twisting around the  man's body and over to the other side. She wound her arms around him and flipped backward. The table behind them shattered under Boba's weight, but he quickly moved onto his feet, igniting his flamethrower just as Koska did the same.

Even from under his Beskar, Din could feel the heat of the licking flames, the sweat beading alone his face and neck.

For a moment, he wished the fire would consume them all. Consume the world.

"Enough! Both  of you!" Bo demanded. "If we had shown half that spine to the Empire we would've never lost our planet." The flames died out, and Din allowed air back into his lungs. Boba rolled his shoulders back, and Koska gritted her teeth, staring at him.

"We will help you." The words poured new life into Din's tired muscles. "In exchange, we will keep that ship to retake Mandalore." Din nodded. "If you should manage to finish your quest, I would have you reconsider joining our efforts."

Din stiffened. When he finished his quest. Yes, but when would that be? It was a thought that had plagued his mind since he'd first gotten Grogu, since Tess called after him on Tatooine. He had had this mission for so long, the same purpose, it had started to fade into the background. Every planet they travelled to, and the danger which followed, keeping the children safe had become his purpose, never expecting —and perhaps not wanting— to reach his final destination.

How could he say goodbye again?

"Mandalorians have been in exile from our homeworld for far too long." Bo continued.

Din didn't know what else to say except. "Fair enough."

"One more thing." she said. "Gideon has a weapon that once belonged to me. It is an ancient weapon that can cut through anything."

"Almost anything." Koska added.

Bo's gaze was relentless as a forest fire. "It cannot cut through pure Beskar. I will kill the Moff and retake what is rightfully mine," she stepped towards Din. "With the Darksaber restored to me, Mandalore will finally be within reach."

"Help me rescue the children, and you can have whatever you want," Din told her. "They are my only priority."

Back on Boba's ship, Bo Katan ignited a hologram of Moff Gideon's light cruiser to assess their obstacle. Dr. Pershing sat slumped in handcuffs across from Din, and gulped when he noticed the Mandalorian's clenched fist.

"In the old days, a cruiser like this would carry a crew of several hundred," Bo explained to the group which had assembled. "Now it operates with a tiny fraction of that."

"Your assessment is misleading." Pershing piped up. Whatever hope Bo had given Din was snuffed under the scientists shiny black boot.

"Oh, great," Cara said. "An objective opinion."

"This isn't subterfuge. I assure you."

"Let him speak." Bo said.

"There's a garrison of dark troopers on board," Pershing explained. "They're the ones who abducted the children." the way he said that last sentence sat heavy in Din's gut, a glimmer of amusement and...awe.

"How many troopers do they have armed in those suits?" Din had to ask.

"These are third-generation design," Pershing answered. "They are no longer suits," The muscles across Din's shoulders twisted. "The human inside was the final weakness to be solved. They're droids."

Din turned to Cara, whose face showed the same unease he felt. Pershing was right, that was the problem. They would have had a better chance of getting the kids if the troopers on board —no matter how specially trained— were humans. Humans had weaknesses, they made mistakes which people like Din could exploit. Now that opportunity was gone, snuffed out like the rest of their chances going into this mission.

No. I cannot fail them.

"Where are they bivouacked?" Fennec asked.

Pershing rose, and Din put a hand on his weapon. But all the scientist did was move towards the hologram.

"They're held in the cold storage in this cargo bay." The hologram changed. "They draw too much power to be kept at ready."

"How long to power up?" Fennec questioned.

"A few minutes, perhaps."

Din asked. "Where are the kids being held?" Pershing pushed a button and the graphics changed again, this time to a small containment room rotating slowly.

"This is the brig." Pershing said. "They're being held here under armed guard." Under his helmet, Din glared into the blue static until the edge of his vision turned fuzzy.

"Very well," Bo said. "We split into two parties."

"I go alone." Din said.

Bo looked to want to argue, but thought better of it. "Fine. Phase one, Lambda shuttle issues a distress call. Two, we emergency land at the mouth of the fighter launch tube, cutting off any potential interceptors. Koska, Fennec, Dune, and myself disembark with maximum initiative. Once we've neutralized the launch bay, we make our way through these tandem decks in a penetration maneuver."

"And me?" Din already had a vague idea of his purpose, but they needed to all be in agreement.

"We'll be misdirection," Bo answered. "Once we draw a crowd, you slip through the shadows, get the kids."

"Those dark troopers, they're gonna be a real skank in the scud pie." Cara said.

Bo nodded. "Their bay is on the way to the brig," She looked to Pershing. "Can he make it there before they deploy?"

"It's possible."

Fennec moved suddenly, reaching into one of Pershing's pockets and handing a small tube-like device to Din. "Here. Take his code cylinder and seal off their holding bay. Anyone else, we can handle."

Of that, there was no doubt.

"We'll meet at the bridge." Din told them, and the rescue was officially under way.

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Her cell was silent as a tomb.

But Tess Oprin had always thrived in the quiet. Like a strike of lightning after thunder, the absence of sound was Tess' second workshop. And she was using it to the fullest.

Callused fingers strummed against the shining steel of her new leg. Her eyes stayed open, numb and colourless. To all the world, Tess looked like the dead girl she'd come to personify, the child stripped of humanity at the hands of the Empire. If anyone looked through the cameras to this room, they would see a statue.

Good, Tess thought.

One of her nails wedged into the groove of the leg, a weak point in the new restructuring. Tess moved as slowly as she could, not just because the cuffs around her wrists constricted her from going as quick as she would have liked, but because whoever was watching from the other side could not know what she was really up to.

Tess's eyes shut closed, her lips parting as a familiar hum spread across the element beneath her fingers. It was the same with every machine ever placed in front of her. Naively, she once thought it was because she was a good mechanic, that this was how it always went before fixing something. It was never unnatural, never felt like she was tearing open a part of herself to reach the center of something infinite.

Ironic, how the only time the Force felt like home was when she used it for something lifeless.

Tess gritted her teeth as a nail ripped along the metal panel, pulling upwards too quickly. She hastily recovered the placid look on her face, the careful precision of her movements. She reached again, this time with her other hand, and pulled the panel up just wide enough for two fingers to slide into the wires.

In order for her cuffs to be broken properly, Tess needed a piece thin enough to slip inside the seam along the middle, without triggering the warning system built in just to the right of the lock piece. It would be difficult, to get the pick just right, and with the cuffs dampening Tess' connection to the Force, she would need to rely on instinct more than ever.

A breath rattled against her chest, her exhaustion making itself known in the way her arms shook, and her head swam, damp and hazy. She hadn't slept in over 12 hours, not since being escorted back to her cell from the bridge. There was no possibility of finding peace while Din's message rang through her head in a constant loop.

They mean more to me than you will ever know.

Tess' mouth quirked up at the thought.

The moment they had closed the door on her again, Tess' mind went straight to working out a plan. Din was coming for her and Grogu, he was going to save them. There was a fire burning in her after that, a flame which could not be quenched. Hope was a powerful emotion, enough to make even Tess go giddy.

Though her body ached from the beatings of the last few days, though her lip and forehead throbbed from where Cyr Vanth had cut her, Tess felt alive. Not only that, she felt ready.

Ready to fight. Ready for whatever it took to get out of there.

The thin rod gave way and fit snug between her fingers. She pressed her lips together and leaned forward, rocking back and forth to look like she was sobbing. Under a curtain of stringy hair fallen into her face, Tess smirked. The strip danced between her fingers, smooth as polished stone. There was an easy grace to which she moved the pick to hang precariously in front of the seam in her cuffs. A practiced ease. This was what she did, this was Tess' true calling, and for the first time in her life, she was using it to do something important.

The thought halted her, that same resistance bubbling under her skin. This was a fight Tess was about to join, and when she did, there was no turning back. A throbbing punctured her severed knee, the phantom pain a reminder of where she was and what had been taken from her.

All her life, Tess had avoided the fight which took away her family, took away her leg. It was only now, in this soundless, grey cell, that Tess knew that wasn't true. In keeping away from the Empire, she had let the pain they caused in her fester, let them spread their iron grip to end more lives and take more families.

Not anymore. Tess would not let that pain control her any longer. She would get out of this cell, Din would come to find them, and then she would take Moff Gideon down. And it all started here, with the cuffs chafing her wrists and the sealed door trapping her inside.

Tess inserted the pick into the cuffs, biting her tongue in concentration. The slats were thinner than she had imagined, the alarm system closer to the release gauge. She pushed in further, through gears and wires she knew like the back of her hand. The lull of the work overtook her senses, until it was only Tess and the machine, the machine and Tess. This was what she was made for.

Click.

Tess opened her eyes. The cuffs hung loose from her wrists, skin underneath red and sweaty. The release of them almost made her sob, though not just from relief. It was like a channel had opened in a blocked river, and the crackling purity of the Force flooded into her veins. She bit her lip harder, cradling her arms to her chest.

Sweat coated her upper lip, her heartbeat ringing loudly in her ears. She waited for the door to open, for the hard work to have been for nothing, and a stormtrooper would hit her in the side with a blaster and place those cuffs back on.

She waited to be a prisoner once again.

But a minute passed, then five, and nothing came through that door. No one was coming to hurt her. Tess was free to escape. She kept her arms close to her chest, hiding the broken cuffs from the camera. Then she looked up straight into the lenses, and she was sorry for whoever stood watching her on the other side. Tess' gaze scanned the cheaply made equipment, immediately finding the weak point. If she went forward with what she was about to do, there was no turning back. It was either continue to fight, or give herself up to the Empire.

The choice, Tess found, was easy to make.

In one fluid motion, she stood and arced her arm back, the pick still between her fingers, throwing it as hard as she could at the camera. It embedded itself into the front, glass shattering and falling into Tess' hair like sand in a storm. She did not brush it away, not even as the shards cut into her scalp. She did not have time.

Immediately, she could imagine the operator alerting the bridge, the troopers already heading to her cell. There was no time to grovel, no time to prepare herself. Tess raced to the door and padded her hands along the side, where the panel outside hummed for her. She huffed a breath, heart lodged in her throat. Without her pick, it would be difficult to get through the metal wall. Tess pushed with all her might, but the panel didn't budge. She turned back to where the dismantled pieces of her old leg lay in a corner.

Hurrying over to the pile, she picked up as much as she could and whirled back to the door. Holding the steel contraption carefully, Tess pulled back and slammed it as hard as she could.

The metal dented on impact.

Tess gritted her teeth and slammed it again, sparks flying from the open wires in her hands. One wrong move and she could electrocute herself, then all of this would have been for nothing.

Come on, come on, Tess thought. She was so close, the idea of freedom singing her tongue. Her lungs contracted in her chest. Tess gasped as she hit the panel again and again, each time the metal coming closer to breaking off it's hinges.

The ground shook beneath her feet, and somewhere in the distance, the sound of blaster fire pulsed, then went silent, but Tess had no time to worry about that.

Her arms screamed in protest, the muscles in her shoulders pulling taut as a rope. Tess huffed, slamming her whole body into the panel along with the leg. Again and again and again. It was no longer the movements of a calculated attempt, it was the efforts of a madwoman.

"Come on!" Tess growled. "COME ON!"

The door gave way so suddenly Tess didn't have time to step back. Instead, a hand reached through and grabbed her by the wool of her jacket. Tess attempted to slam her leg into their shin, but it was no use. Cyr Vanth put a hand over her mouth, and the sultry scent of leather and blood filled her nostrils.

"Quiet!" He hissed at her, while Tess struggled. "They can still hear you!" Tess paused only briefly before going after him again, and this time her knee did connect with something. Cyr grunted and his hold on her loosened. Tess pushed away and fell into the wall of the cell. She righted herself, panting, while Cyr found his bearings. The door was behind him, her only means of escape gone.

"Let me go," Tess wheezed. "Please, let me go, Vanth." Cyr pinned her with his blaster, his face rife with conflict. Whatever cool composure he'd had after hitting Tess, it was gone, and replaced with what looked like fear.

Tess frowned, then the sounds of the ship finally caught up with her. Alarms blared out in the hall, and the sound of passing feet pressed in at all sides. she looked at Cyr, who knew what she had just realized.

Tess' eyes widened. "He's here." It wasn't a question, but Cyr nodded anyway.

"Looks like your Mandalorian really did care." He said, strangled.

Tess' shoulders slackened. "Cyr, please. You have to let me go. If you don't, he will kill you."

"What's one more time in the ring?"

"You'll lose."

"It always seems to go that way, doesn't it?"

"If you don't, you'll die."

Cyr huffed a laugh. "And if I do, I'll die."

"There's a chance you could make it." Cyr shook his head wildly, marveling at the cool honesty in Tess' voice. He knew she didn't care what happened to him, but that didn't mean she was wrong.

The mercenary lowered his blaster. Tess did not move, did not even breathe.

"It wasn't personal," Cyr said quietly. "Not at the beginning. But then you kept slipping out of my grasp," he held a fist out and tightened it. "And my god, I...I just wanted to win, for once."

Tess nodded, her movements as jagged as the angles of her face. "I don't—" she swallowed thickly, not quite believing what she said next. "I don't blame you."

Cyr smiled, a real smile, and moved to one side of the door, lighting the path to freedom.

"Yes you do," he answered, and holstered his gun. "Go."

Tess didn't hesitate. She limped as fast she could, nearly slipping out into the hall. The alarms were loud, pounding against her head like a hammer to a nail. Tess ignored it. She ignored the ache in her heart, the fear drowning her lungs, the impossibility of what she was doing.

Instead, she pushed on, running down abandoned hallways, hiding behind pillars when the sound of stormtroopers approached. Tess Oprin ran towards freedom, whatever that looked like.

And as she did, Tess collided head on into something hard and metallic, her teeth clattering as she fell to the floor. Her vision swam, unfocused. She raised her arms shakily, ready to push through the pain and blast whoever tried to harm her.

But then a soft, gloved hand wrapped around her own, and an achingly familiar voice pushed through the haze.

"Tess?"

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AUTHOR'S NOTE.

One chapter left.......