A cold, harsh wind howled through the streets of Coronet City, sending a violent chill up the spines of any unlucky souls who had no respite from its path. Snow hadn't yet begun to fall, but the seasoned locals all knew it was coming and had already rerouted their business to the underground tunnels. Offworlders, though, were far less prepared, relegated to traversing the Blue Sector's alleys in the open, frigid air. It wasn't ideal, but Horatio Sheridan had endured far worse, on either extreme, in the past. Where others with weaker wills would have given up their missions for a planet with more favorable conditions, Horatio actually preferred such a setting.

His years-old chest wound, however, did not.

As much as he tried to suppress it, a wet, rugged cough choked him as his lungs contracted to protect themselves from the cold. The entire left side of his chest ached under an unsightly scar just below his collarbone, an ever present reminder of the lowest point in his life that had very nearly gotten him killed. A jagged, broken piece of transparisteel had been thrust into him as punishment for starting a fight he had no chance of winning, and he had expected, perhaps even wished, for it to have claimed him at the time. Out of nowhere, though, one woman had bargained his assailants for his life, and she rescued him and nursed him back to health just so she could request a favor of him in return...

That favor was the only reason he had ventured back into Core Space, making his way through busy metropolises that he otherwise would have avoided at all costs. His usual routine of keeping to the Outer Rim and beyond was preventing him from following a lead, and a hunch, that the solution to his dilemma would be somewhere well populated. There was no way he'd go back to Paneau again, not even if his life depended on it, and Coruscant was full of hunters and mercenaries like him that would kill each other to collect the likely rather large bounty on his head. But somewhere in between on the spectrum, Corellia was both respectable enough to have what he was looking for, while at the same time crooked enough for him to blend in so long as he kept to the shadows.

Hiding in plain sight allowed him to eavesdrop on nearby conversations when others around him let their guard down. He picked up on keywords here and there as spacers and smugglers and all manner of lowlifes casually passed him by on the street, mostly unaware that a stranger was acutely listening in. Ironically, it was his keen ear that had landed him in that cantina brawl so many years ago, following two brutes inside and confronting them for ill words said against his late sister. Over time, the emotional pain of that night had slowly faded, replaced by the sincerely caring brown eyes that had hovered over him and begged him to breathe as he lay bleeding, dying on the floor of her ship's cargo hold...

Shaking the image of her lovely, pleasant face from his head, he glanced around himself, surprised to discover just how much of his surroundings had changed as he had briefly drifted away in his memories. None of the other offworlders nearby were the same ones he had seen just minutes earlier, putting him on edge. He'd been standing in place for far too long already, and his instinct to escape was suddenly impossible to ignore; it was long past time to move on. He hunched his shoulders to tug his heavy jacket tautly over his neck, giving the dark Corellian street another quick once-over before finding refuge in a cantina just down the block.

Out of habit, he made his way slowly around the cantina's main island, familiarizing himself with the number of people inside, with the interior layout, and most importantly, with any of the exits he may soon require use of. Though he hadn't yet run into any trouble in the recent past, he kept up a constant vigil and never took any sense of safety or comfort for granted. His former employers, many of whom he'd double crossed, had likely sent their agents anywhere and everywhere on his trail. It was what he would've done had he been in their shoes, striking when his target had become complacent and lax. Living with your eyes constantly locked over your shoulder was exhausting, mentally and physically, but it had kept him alive this long. No one seemed to be paying much attention to him, though, and fairly certain he hadn't been followed inside, he sat at the main bar with a direct line of sight to the front entry. A reflective bottle of some cheap green ale on the rack over his head gave him a perfect glimpse of the rest of the cantina behind him, allowing him to easily keep tabs on movement in any direction. For a few minutes, at least, he could enjoy a quiet drink undisturbed.

"What'll it be, buddy?"

Thought a bit off-put by the Rodian bartender's noticeable volume, Horatio withheld a flippant response to avoid attracting further attention. "Spiced ale, whatever local you've got."

The Rodian nodded and tossed the drink together quickly, seemingly capable of doing so with his large, round eyes closed. Though Horatio was familiar with a number of Rodians, he had no idea how to gauge their ages without prompting them for clues. How knowledgeable was this Corellian bartender about his homeworld? Would he be able to give Horatio the answers he sought?

"You seem to know your way around," the Rodian observed casually, thankfully adopting a softer tone. "Been here before?"

Lightly sipping his drink as he hunched over the bar, Horatio shrugged. "Can't help it when my luck runs out."

"And you end up here?" he laughed. "There are a lot worse places to be, pal."

"I'm not so sure about that," Horatio grumbled darkly, glancing briefly at two men who had just walked in. They wore nothing that identified them, but he had recognized them anyway. "You make it a habit of inviting CorSec agents into your cantina?"

The Rodian stood speechless a moment before he took a careful glance behind him, spotting the two who had caught Horatio's attention. If Rodians had eyebrows, he was sure the bartender's would be solidly knit together in alarmed confusion.

"I don't... I mean, those aren't... They're not CorSec."

"They're undercover, and they're good, but I can spot them a kilometer away. It's hard to completely alter the way you walk, even if you're consciously trying to. There are still going to be a few steps that give you away." Stealing another glance over his cup at the two as they moved further into the room, Horatio sighed. "What are they sniffing around here for?"

Nervous, the bartender slid a damp rag across the bar just in front of Horatio's elbows, an excuse to stay close enough to continue a quieter conversation. "I've heard they're looking for someone, an offworlder with a list of crimes as long as a Star Destroyer, someone who hasn't been here for very long. If...if you need," he added cautiously, obviously appreciative of Horatio identifying the agents for him, "...there's a tunnel just below this counter. Leads outside the city."

Uninterested in allowing trouble to find him though he wasn't sure why CorSec would want him anyway, Horatio was about to accept the offer when he spotted a woman entering the cantina who immediately piqued his curiosity. Her appearance was striking and remarkably unique, with slender, pointed ears, blue-tipped brown hair, and blue markings above and below her eyes, but her beauty was not his primary interest. She stood out to him, not because of her looks, but because of something indescribable, something he felt more strongly than a hunch. He watched carefully as she approached and spoke with the CorSec agents, and the way she carried herself, the way she moved with such grace and strength at the same time...he couldn't be imagining it. She wasn't dressed in any identifying uniform that he could see, either, but he knew exactly what she was.

And she could solve his longstanding problem that had brought him to the Core in the first place.

Inspired, he regained the bartender's attention, keeping a careful watch on her from across the room. "Who is that?"

The Rodian took a furtive glance before returning to him with a fresh drink and a shrug. "No one knows. She's been in and out of here a few times this week, taking on a few local jobs, but it's all been legitimate work as far as I could tell." Casting a skeptical gaze toward her and the CorSec agents still conversing with her, he huffed lightly. "She better not be ratting out any of my regulars."

Horatio paid the bartender little mind as the Rodian turned away muttering, instead remaining focused on the woman without appearing to stare. She perplexed him. Why would she be hiding who she was on a Core world like Corellia? Was she doing undercover work herself?

As quickly as she had appeared in the cantina, though, she was gone, leaving Horatio to debate whether he should follow after her. It was the perfect opportunity he needed to clear his conscience, so he couldn't afford to let her slip away, but it was extremely risky going in blind if she was what he thought. He'd had enough experience dealing with powerful, potentially volatile people in the past...

Afraid of wasting more time and losing her trail, he made his decision and tossed a few credits on the bar, downing the last swig of his drink as he nonchalantly made his way toward the front. Again he kept a roving eye on the other patrons as he passed them, especially on the CorSec agents in the corner, but still no one stirred from their own business. Either he looked the part of a local Corellian and commanded mutual respect, or his expression and demeanor kept others at a healthy distance. It didn't matter much to him, whichever allowed him to proceed without interference.

Returning to the night's biting cold outside was more of a shock than he anticipated, but he somehow managed to control his cough he could feel returning, concentrating on steady, careful breathing. His jacket insulated him a few moments more, and its dark color helped him use the shadows in the alley to his advantage as he spotted the woman up ahead. She hadn't gotten far, just a few blocks down the street, and she was still alone. Though he fought a nagging alarm in the back of his mind, the same feeling he got when he knew he was about to cross his former partner, he pressed on and followed her a dozen lengths back, keeping to the periphery as much as possible. When she turned down an even darker alley, he quickly closed the distance and took in a slow breath, steeling his nerves as he prepared himself for the encounter he knew wouldn't be easy...

Though his muscles were tensed and ready to react as he stepped around the corner, the deep darkness he met prevented him from perceiving any movement in front of him before it was far too late. He had no time to react as he felt a firm hand grip him by the collar and throw him hard against the wall as the flared muzzle of a blaster pistol was pressed up under his jaw, aimed squarely at the top of his spinal cord through his throat.