This was bad, Bo-Katan realized. Very, very bad—so much so that she wasn't entirely sure how a situation this dark, this black could ever rectify itself. Could ever provide a way out, offer any hope of a place beyond.

And then again, she wasn't all that certain that there should be.

Groaning, she shifted positions atop the icy, stone-hard floor. Last thing she recalled before awakening here was…well, that was hard to pin-point, actually. She had memories of being enveloped in lightning, in the naked pain of white-hot brightness—but after that, all was fuzzy. Blurred. Veiled, so she could only guess as to how—or why—she'd been plopped into this lightless prison, her naked frame pressed to warmth-leeching rock.

But this wasn't merely a darkened prison, a black cage to forever contain her. This was silence. Complete, utter lack of sound, of voices and life. Straining your eyes, trying to simply hear again was no use; there were walls placed around you, impregnable ones that wouldn't yield to even a fool's hope.

Except for the dripping, for that pitter-patter of water that splashed her back from above. Drip. Drop. Drip-drop-drip…

Drop.

Shivering, she drew her knees to her chest, screwed her eyes closed. If she went on like this, exposed to the elements of this baseless place, she'd never again see the light of day. Hypothermia would set in, or starvation, or some psychotic urge to bash her head into the floor, and that'd be it: no more her. No more Bo-Katan, who'd come to realize that she was the only fiber holding Mandalore together, sealing the ties which bound it to existence.

So no more future for the rebellion, either. No tiny band rising to clash with legion upon legion, their throats ready to either take in death or rail against it. No Empire crumbling, desisting. No freedom from the shadow she knew was looming heavily over them all, ready to rain down at any moment.

There was only death—and a heck of a lot of it.

Drip.

Drop.

"You sound cold."

At the sound of the voice, Bo-Katan froze, an rigid sculpture of ivory and auburn snow. Judging by the pitch and timbre, it was a man—a human one, given that she wasn't picking up any other guttural sounds—and he wasn't far off. Might be crouching over her, for all she knew. Could be gawking down at her naked, shivering frame, so she curled into a tighter ball, folding her arms self-consciously over her chest.

"Where are you?" she demanded, throat grating from disuse.

"We could be asking the same of you," another voice responded. It sounded higher-pitched, more feminine. "But we can hear you clear as day from our cell—all your shivering and what-not. It's getting a little old."

Unfurling slightly, Bo-Katan glowered into the dark. "Huh. Well, excuse me for being mortal."

The male speaker made a sharp, clucking noise. "Pity you have to be so rude, ad'ika. And here we were, ready to loan you our extra blanket out of the goodness of our hearts…"

Her venomous expression melted, giving way to a flash of apprehension. The speakers weren't watching her, most likely—like her, they were cocooned in total darkness, pupils dilated to the size of snow-melt lakes. But that didn't necessarily mean they wouldn't somehow brutalize her the second they could pin-point her location, so she unwound herself fully from her ball, inched away from the sound of their voice till she hit a wall. Or whatever else was barring her within this cesspool. "What in blazes do you want, sleemos?"

"Want?" the female voice echoed, sultry tones sliding languidly through the air. "We don't want anything—at least, not from you. In fact, Rako and I wanna help you, believe it or not."

"I don't."

The female released a hard-held breath. "I suppose you're entitled to your cynicism, but we're serious about this: we'll help you escape, no questions asked."

Hands still clasped over her chest, she cocked a brow. "And just how do you two jail-banthas propose we get out of this stink-pit, anyways? You both sound like you've been here longer than I have, so why would wait till I show up to spring your little plan?"

The male—Rako, she presumed—chuckled long and low. "It's not that sort of escape, sweetheart."

Arms dropping to her sides, Bo-Katan stared blankly into the listless void. It was that bad here, then? Bad enough that you'd shirk all other options, toss them aside to be reaped by whirlwind? That you'd end it all, cut everything short, snuff the weakling candle out before it had chance to breathe? "Our jailers—they're planning on torturing me, aren't they?"

The female sighed. "Rako and I overheard them discussing it, yes. Said you had ties with the rebels or something"

Eyes pinched closed, she drew her knees to her chest. Let her head drop. Listened to the ever-tolling pattering of the unseen water, her heart echoing its monotonous beat. "I wish that were the only thing."

Admittedly, Obi-Wan wasn't the galaxy's greatest trackers. He wasn't. But with this—this should've left signs, clear-cut, ostensible evidence. Shouldn't be leaving them with an icy cold path, the calling cards of both the Inquisitor and Bo-Katan swiftly fading.

Then again, he shouldn't have let that blasted changling get a hold of her, either.

Ahsoka sidled up to him, ivory brow knit in palpable unrest. "Still no sign of her?"

"None." He drug a hand over his face, kneaded his bleary eyes. They'd been at this for a while—for a while too long, moreover, and it was beginning to wear on him. Eat at him. Even some of Mandalore's more beleaguered denizens were having an easier time at navigating Sundari's congested by-ways, shuffling past him at speeds which seemed blinding to addled mind. "I'm beginning to wonder if the Inquisitor took her off-world, or…"

"You think she's dead, don't you?"

He pulled in a tight, tight breath. "The thought had crossed my mind. You yourself said that the Inquisitors will stop at nothing to achieve their goals, even if it means hacking through innocents-a category which I'm afraid Bo-Katan wouldn't be placed under, considering her previous run-in with the changling." Pausing, he spun and faced the young togruta. Took her gently by the shoulders, gaze meeting hers dead-on. Made sure she could see the gravity in his eyes, the sheer weight of it swelling, bulging. "I've had a run-in with her, back when I was still Anakin's mentor. When she's in her most-used form, she calls herself 'Rae'Ann'; otherwise, she's simply 'Morgul'—and even then I'm not so certain she's an anything. More like an 'it'. An unfeeling, sub-human creature that will do anything to lure a Jedi to his or her death." He stepped back, let his hands drop back to his sides. "And unfortunately, Anakin's was all-too aware of her existence; so it wouldn't surprise me if he deliberately sought her out for this task."

Ahsoka cocked her head to one side, a movement that gave her an oddly avian air. "That would explain why she took Bo-Katan, I suppose. After all, she might be under the impression that we're somehow linked with Kryze. That she's our friend or…something."

Wheeling away from her, Obi-Wan bit back his honest response, and continued ambling down the glass-paned street. He couldn't articulate his true feelings just yet. Not to her, anyway—and although he trusted the fiery togruta with his life, he wasn't ready to disclose something so abstract, so emotionally and verbally slippery. Especially when he was having difficulty grasping them himself, their hazy outlines sliding through his fingers like Klantooinian eels. "She'll probably assume that, yes. I mean, she saw us conversing in Mos Eisley, and she'd have no reason to suppose otherwise." He pulled a dour frown. "From her point of view, Bo-Katan would perfectly bait a Jedi trap. So be expecting a call from our changling friend, Ahsoka, and it expect to arrive soon."

Striding purposefully beside him, the togruta's rust-and-ivory features were exquisitely neutral. "You think she'll make some sort of public appeal, then."

"Most likely. Otherwise, she wouldn't be able to spring her snare." His fingers played with the bristly edges of his beard. "She'll probably want to make some sort of exchange, I'm betting. And if she's anything like what she used to be, then very persuasive—and very public—demands would fit under her m-o."

"And when she makes her demands? What'll we do then?"

Melancholy tugged at the corners of his mouth, forming a heavy scowl. Less than two years ago, he'd been asked a painfully similar question by a painfully similar friend, had felt expectant eyes watching for his response. Had answered with words clearly echoing what he was going to say now in the fleeting, gossamer breast of the present.

He showed her a bitter smile. "We spring the trap."

"Get dressed."

The voice—all syrup and deep, sultry drawl—wrenched Bo-Katan from her fitful sleep. Made her eyes snap open, their emerald pools aware of a few shaft of milky light slanting across her. Across her faintly gleaming armor and the smoky blue of her bodyglove.

Pulling herself from the stony floor, she stepped into the skintight 'glove, then set to work attaching her menagerie of armor. It was like a puzzle, really. Just rotate a piece, see if it snapped into place; slide an arm through a gauntlet here, strap a belly-plate there, and viola! All pieces in their place, the rippling fragments of beskar'gam sealing her in virtually impenetrable shell.

"If you're ready, Mando," the voice croaked, "you may follow me out the cell door."

Pupils dilated to the full, Bo-Katan cast about the minute room, blinking under the brunt of unaccustomed light. There. About two meters from her left shoulder, cut into the rock-stone-ice wall: a door. The door, the one that spread wide and beckoned her toward an unknown fate.

Well, it's about vaping time.

Steeling herself, Bo-Katan strode through, entered into a too-bright hall decked with too-bright sconces. She blinked, shielding her face with her hands for one blinding moment; then she let them slide, drop, fall back to her side. Felt them go lax with terror as a shape slithered past her, its incandescent hide rippling with serpentine grace.

"All must go," it hissed, prodding her forward. "And all must pay."

"Well, you were right, Master—for once."

Ignoring the quiet sarcasm in her voice, Obi-Wan eased over to Ahsoka's side. After their previous discussion, he and the young togruta had situated themselves on the lip of a skyscraper, observing countless, listless throngs of beings via a pair of electro-binoculars. For the most the part, the scene had been pretty idle: just heads bobbing, pushing through the crowds, milling aimlessly about in one writhing, fleshy mass. But as he followed Ahsoka's gaze with his own set of binocs, he caught a flash of movement dart out of one the buildings—and felt his spine roil with tundra dread.

"Stang," he breathed, hardly daring to move. "Stang."

Ahsoka regarded him for a heartbeat, bemused. "You alright? Because honestly, you look like you just saw a ghost."

Lowering the binoculars, Obi-Wan let his gaze blur, defocus. No, he wasn't alright. Not in this lifetime, or in the one that forever loomed nigh, poised to dole out his final heartbeat. Not now, anyway, his mind wheeling with images of it, with the glowing embers of memories too stubborn to die. To wither and simply drift away with the whispering breeze.

Because honestly, he had just seen a ghost. A real one. A living, breathing, tangible thing that was defying the laws of the past, shirking them like an unwanted doll. Forgetting that it was meant to linger in dreams, to haunt them. To stalk all who slept. So watching it slink across Sundari's crystalline streets like he'd never put it behind him, had never moved on—that was a waking nightmare.

And he'd brought it to the waking world.

He shivered, wrenching himself from his dismal reverie. "No, no—I'm fine. Just a little tired, thank you." He feigned a yawn, gave a luxuriant, feline stretch. "I'll be back to one-hundred percent after this entire affair's been wrapped up, probably."

The togruta shot him a dubious look, but didn't pursue the matter any further than that. "Whatever you say, Master. But I've been thinking…"

Despite everything, he allowed himself a tiny, private smile. "Oh, dear…"

"I'm serious. All this time we've been searching for Bo-Katan, I've wondering: is it really worth it, risking some of the last of the Jedi for a Mando we hardly know? Because when you count the cost, the odds come up short."

Smile dissolving, he regarded her with his intense blue stare. "You're giving up on her."

"I'm just being honest, Obi-Wan. And if you search yourself, I'm betting you'll find you're considering the same thing." She faced him, her thin, youthful features suddenly old beyond years. "I've never really grasped the Order's aversion to attachment, but I'm now beginning to wonder if there wasn't a more dangerous vice—one they were never aware of."

He was petrified of hearing her answer, but…"And that would be?"

Her large, harvest-moon eyes settled evenly on his. "The feeling that we have to work, that we have to do and do to make things right. It's not healthy, trying to atone for something in the past—especially when this clearly isn't your fight. I've sensed it: you have some other role to play. There's something-or someone-out there who needs you more than we do." Her features softened. "More than Bo-Katan needs you."

He stiffened, utterly rattled. There was an implication there, lurking in her hushed voice—one that he wished, wished so desperately that he could deny. Refute with sound logic, the calm, rational argument. But he couldn't. Not with truth prodding, nagging at the back of his mind, its waves crashing steadily upon eroded shore.

Because she was right: he needed Bo-Katan. Badly. Just…well, not in the way she was implying. This feeling, this near physical want welling behind his ribs, stemmed from something other than affection—from that vice Ahsoka had just brought to striking light.

If he failed Bo-Katan, he'd ultimately fail Satine.

So he'd have to let both of them go. Release them. Spread wide his grasping fingers and let them drift down rivers unknown, unseen. Only…

Only, he wasn't quite sure that letting go was the true path to take. Not here, teetering on the precipice of fire and water. And maybe not ever.

There were, after all, things worth holding onto.

And he told Ahsoka that, too…just as an explosion ripped through the air, shearing through glass buildings as though they were past dreams.