AN: So yeah, it's been nearly a year. Short explanation: life happened.

CHAPTER 2

We do not form attachment if at all possible. Family, lovers, even close friends can lead to intense emotion, to clouded judgement. Avoid tying yourself to people if you can, and such influences will never harm you.
-Jedi Master Hroki Ert

"No, not like that. Push your hip forward, it'll put more power into—that's it, well done. Swap sides."
Shaari obediently reversed her position, and threw a surprisingly powerful right cross into the pad I was holding. I'd introduced the idea of teaching the girl how to defend herself not long after she had moved in to my apartment two months ago, and she'd taken to it like a Wookiee to tree-climbing. It helped that her reflexes were far sharper than you'd normally expect from a teenager and, like many untrained Force-sensitives, she was instinctively using the Force to cushion herself from the impact of her own blows. As a result, she could react faster and hit much harder without any additional danger to herself.
She was a bright one, too. Not two hours after moving in, she had strengthened the encryption on my terminal's filestore, cleaned out some malware and somehow stopped the air-conditioner from making that mysterious rattling noise.

As far as I was aware, Shaari had no memory of what had happened after her mother died. Her Force-outburst had drained her both physically and mentally, and she had collapsed not long after she had avenged Zaleena's murder. According to her, everything between the Mandalorian's gunshot and waking up in my apartment hours later was a complete blank.
When she asked what had happened, I told her that she had fainted after seeing her mother's body, which wasn't false, but incomplete enough to cause me no small discomfort. I couldn't be sure whether or not she'd accepted this account at face value, but so far she hadn't tried to pull at that particular string.

"All right, that'll do for now. Good work."
Shaari grinned. "Does that mean I get a question?"
"I suppose it does," I replied, returning her smile. "Go for it."
"All right…" she began, then fell silent as she chose her words carefully. We'd agreed on an exchange early on; if she could make someone smile, then she was allowed to ask me any question she liked – provided I could answer it simply within a few sentences. It was a technique usually used on younger apprentices, though Shaari had taken it to heart – life in a place as educationally impoverished as Nar Shaddaa was torturous for one as inquisitive as she was, so naturally she jumped at any chance to satiate her boundless curiosity.
"Okay, got one: what are Jedi Masters like?"
"All different, really. They can be impatient, gentle, funny, grim – they've still got personalities, they've just spent decades trying to keep themselves under control. People think they're these mysterious, infallible keepers of ancient wisdom, but don't believe a word of that. They make mistakes, same as anyone else, and sometimes even the Council can make some stupid decisions."
A gleam appeared in the young Twi'lek's sunset eyes, and she opened her mouth once more to speak – then closed it again. A question for later.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
"Ah, damn it."
Unlike its inhabitants, the city covering Nar Shaddaa never sleeps. I knew, when I set up shop here, that sometimes I'd be awoken in the middle of the night by some caller or other.
That didn't make that sort of thing any less unpleasant, though.
I rose, dressed and sloped out into the main living area and met a sleepy-eyed Shaari who greeted me with a mumbled "whassgoinon?"
"Door beeper," I explained, as another harsh beeeeeeeeeeeep drilled its way into our skulls. Shaari nodded and sank into the nearby chair, rubbing her eyes.
I hit the panel beside the door, which opened to reveal a middle-aged human woman wearing a sharp, well-tailored business robe and far too much jewellery, topped off with a scowl sour enough to make even a Duros wince.
"Janis Fargone?" she snapped, casting a disapproving eye over my dishevelled appearance.
"In the flesh, madam," I confirmed.
"Disappointing."
I blinked. There isn't much to say to that. The woman sniffed, scowl deepening as she beheld my new flatmate, who was currently trying not to doze off in her seat.
"Oh well, I suppose it can't be helped. May I come in?"
I stood aside, motioning toward one of the free seats in the living area. The woman perched on its edge, eyes never leaving me as I sat down beside Shaari.
"I would never have believed it," she mused, before I could speak, "had I not seen it with my own eyes. The Jedi Knight credited with exposing the Longbar conspiracy, reduced to bounty hunting on the smuggler's moon."
Next to me, Shaari's eyes widened, all fatigue forgotten.
"Problem solving," I corrected her. "I'm not a hired thug."
The woman inclined her head. "Problem solving, then. Still, it's a far cry from the lofty position you once held…"

"Enough of that," I grunted, not willing to be drawn into a lengthy disassembly of my activities. "Obviously you know who I am. What should I call you?"
"My name is not your concern."
I smirked, despite myself. "That's an unusual one. Is that 'concern' with a C or a K?"
"Fine," she huffed, "you may refer to me as Lirane."
"Lirane. A fan of the opera?"
"Quite."
"All right then, 'Lirane', what brings you to me?"
Lirane paused, eyes flicking toward Shaari. "Leave us."
Shaari gave a start and threw a discomfited glance my way.
"She stays," I said, keeping my eyes fixed on this prospective client.
"Jan, I don't mind—"
"You stay, Shaari."
"Really now, Jedi, be reasonable—"
"She stays," I insisted, sitting up straight, "and don't call me 'Jedi'. That's not what I am any more."
"As you wish," conceded the woman with a tiny frown.

"A friend of mine is missing. He and I were supposed to meet on Telos two weeks ago, but he failed to turn up; contacting his associates, I found out that he had disappeared. The Telosian authorities traced him to Nar Shaddaa, which as you know is out of Republic jurisdiction, and since there's no semblance of policing here…"
"…you've come to me," I finished.
"Precisely,"
"So… what's this guy's name?" interjected Shaari, earning a glare from our client.
"The details, young lady, are on the datapad I was about to hand to your master."
"I'm nobody's master, madam," I cut in, unable to keep the edge from my voice as Shaari glowered in agreement.
"As you can see," Lirane continued, ignoring us completely and rising from her seat, "the last mention of him is at a transport dock not far from here. Perhaps you should start there."
"Naturally," I agreed, gesturing at my apartment door to open it. "Once I find him, how do I contact you?"
"It's all in the datapad. Now, if you don't mind, I've no desire to stay in this hovel any longer. Good day to you both."
Pausing only to savour the expressions on our faces, she turned and strode through the door, which closed behind her.

"I don't like it," Shaari grumbled, pacing up and down. "Or her. Condescending old scow."
Either my young friend had spontaneously developed telepathy, or she and I were in complete agreement.
"We don't have to like her," I sighed, looking up from the datapad, "just her money. She's offering… wow, five hundred for this fellow Orinth's location, plus another two-fifty for delivery."
Shaari stopped dead. "Seven hundred and fifty credits?"
"Enough to feed the two of us for three months, at least. Which in itself might be another problem."
"Huh?"
"My standard rate is 100 credits, though that varies depending on a couple of factors, like difficulty and time needed – unless they genuinely can't afford that, in which case the client just pays what they can. But this Lirane, or whatever her name is, is willing to drop at least five times that without question."
"So it's… what, a bribe?"
"I think so. Maybe she's expecting me to run into some trouble that she's decided not to warn me about. Or maybe I'll find out something I won't like, that'd usually make me drop the case, and she's hoping the big creds will be enough to get me to look past that."
"Huh, that is pretty fishy. What other problems do you see?"
"Other problems?" I repeated, surprised.
"You said the big payout was 'another' problem. What else is there?"
"You're a sharp one," I smiled, impressed by her perceptiveness. "You're right, that's not my only reservation.
"Number one, she knew who I was and what I used to be right down to my old rank. That's not common knowledge – apart from you and a couple of others, nobody around here knows I used to be a Jedi. So either someone I trusted has blabbed, or she knew before she came to this moon."
"But she called you 'Jedi', didn't she?" Shaari cut in, frowning a little. "That means she thought you still were one."
"That's true. The latter, then. Number two: she knew about the Longbar conspiracy, and my role in exposing it. That information needs security clearance on Coruscant – not exactly high-level, but it means she either has that clearance or knows someone who does. She might even have been involved."
"Wouldn't you remember her, then?"
"It was thirteen years ago, and there were a lot of people who took part both in the conspiracy and in taking Kalon Longbar down. He was a senator at the head of a plot to assassinate the Supreme Chancellor, if you were wondering."
"And you exposed him?"
"Not just me. There were three other Jedi, including my old master, plus the Republic investigation team. I just found the final piece of evidence we needed."
"So," Shaari began, "she's rich, knows a lot about you, and probably isn't telling us everything."
"That's about the bones of it. Can you do me a favour?"
"Sure," she replied, jumping eagerly to her feet, "what do you need?"
"I'm heading out to talk to a couple of people about our missing person. While I'm gone, get on the computer and see if you can find out anything about 'Lirane'. Try people working for or with the Republic Senate, possibly with a connection to opera."
"Opera?"
"The name she gave us – Lirane – is a character from a Cerean opera called Deceptive Peace. I'd guess it's been playing recently."
"Can do. And… uh…"
Shaari trailed off, fidgeting slightly.
"What's up?"
"You said the only people who knew you used to be a Jedi were people you trust."
I saw immediately where she was going with this.
"Ah. Yes I did, and yes I do."
I must say, I wasn't expecting the hug.

Merot Orinth. Human. 57 standard years old.
Homeworld: Dantooine.
Current planet of residence: Telos.
Occupation: Filing clerk, Hoorl Acquisitions.
Family: None, save for a few second-cousins on Dantooine.
Notable characteristics: Birthmark near navel, chronic limp in left leg.
Last known location: Nar Shaddaa, spaceport designation H77WT225. Sixty-two kilometres from where I lived.

I quickly decided it would be better not to think too hard about how Lirane had known about the birthmark.

The holo accompanying the datapad showed an unremarkable man. Not particularly tall or short, not especially fat, thin or muscled. Fairly old, but not decrepit. Not well-dressed, but not covered in rags either. Entirely ordinary, by all appearances.
Of course, looks aren't everything. A Jedi without robes or obvious lightsabre wouldn't necessarily stand out to a casual observer, which is precisely why I tended to do without both.

It was certainly much more information than I usually got on missing-persons cases. Normally, I would count myself lucky if I was given more than a name and vague description. Regardless, step 1 remained the same; head to the spaceport, find out if anyone had seen him.

"Hrm. That's twice I've seen that mug today."
I raised an eyebrow. Usually I'd be traipsing around for hours looking for any sort of trace, but today I'd struck gold within minutes.
"When was this?"
"Hold up, humie," replied the Weequay ticket vendor, "ye think y'mighta forgot somethin', there?"
I sighed, sliding a few credits across the counter. "Better?"
"Much. Alrighty, this fella comes in a few hours back askin' about transport to Muunilinst. So I says to him, I says 'look at the board. That's what it's there for.' Then he gets this shifty look, asks if there's anythin' goin' that's not on th'board. On the softly-softly, like."
"And is there?"
"Haven't a clue," grunted the vendor, stretching his arms out. "There's prob'ly the odd shadow-run, but they never runs it past me. I just sells th'tickets."
"Anything else?"
"Aye, there might be. I just can't… quite… remember…"
I raised my hand from the counter slightly, the practised gesture helping me to give the ticket-man's mind a little poke.
"Yes, you can."
His eyes glazed over.
"…yes, I can."
"Go on, then," I smiled.
"Aye. Fella leans in close-like, asks if there's been any arrivals from over Telos way. I says aye, two transports this last week. Then the weirdest thing happens… his eyes go wide and his whole face just changes colour. Goes all white. Izzat normal for you lot?"
"Sometimes. What happened after that?"
"Not a lot. 'E backs off, mumbles somethin', then fair legs it out the main entrance. Hasn't been back since."

I straightened up.
"Thanks for that, my good man. You've been very helpful."
The ticketmaster grunted in acknowledgement, waving the next person forward as I wandered off.

So, what did I know now?
First of all, Orinth was probably still here. He might have been able to find transport off-planet somewhere else, but Muunilinst was a serious distance away. Nar Shaddaa was pretty much at the eastern edge of known space, and Muunilinst almost due galactic-north of the core.
Come to think of it, I wouldn't be surprised if it's on the other side of Telos from here. I'd have to check to be sure, but it sounds like he's going back on himself.
Second: judging by his reaction to hearing of transports from Telos, he didn't want to be found. He probably suspected Lirane would be on his trail after his no-show at their meeting.
He's not just running, though. If you want to lose someone, either you hide in the crowds somewhere like here or Taris, or find somewhere remote without too much hungry wildlife.
Only thing left to do was another Force scan. Striding over to the spaceport's only entrance, I leaned against a nearby wall and opened my perceptions…

…no good. There were just too many traces, too many people who had walked through that doorway. Any impressions Orinth might have left had been buried under the presences of hundreds of other visitors.
Damn.
Nothing for it but to head home, see what Shaari had managed to—

whack

Ow.

Now, generally speaking, anyone trained in the Force can spot an ambush a light-year away; malicious intent tends to stick out, especially if it's directed at you. Problem is, there is a serious overcrowding problem on Nar Shaddaa – if you're not specifically looking for something, then chances are it'll pass by under layers and layers of other people, with all their thoughts and feelings jamming up your signal. And malicious intent's not exactly hard to come by around here, what with the smugglers, swindlers, thugs and thieves operating out of nearly every doorway and street corner.

I mean, I only sensed Shaari the first time when I got within three hundred or so metres of her, and she's got serious potential. Hell, you could probably drop a Sith Lord a few kilometres down the road from my place and I wouldn't notice.
Moot point, given that the Jedi did for Darth Bane a couple of centuries back, but y'know.

(Coruscant's a different story. It's as crowded as the smuggler's moon, but wander into the Jedi Temple and the place works like a giant Force-antenna, amplifying pretty much everything. This happens with any place strong in the Force, but the Temple's been a haven for Jedi for millennia and it's growing stronger all the time.)

Of course, what I would do if I wanted to spring a trap for a Force user is simple: use droids. Not being biological beings, they don't have any presence we can detect (unless you concentrate really hard on electrical oscillations), plus most people will ignore a droid unless it's bringing you a drink or shooting at you.
So to make myself feel better, I chose to believe that it was a droid that had clobbered me and dragged me off to who-knew-where.

"A bag over the head? Really, Merot?"
Whoever this was, they were speaking through a modulator. An odd precaution, but you never knew with people around here.

…Wait. Merot? Wasn't that—

"Sorry, ma'am, I don't follow."
Ah. A woman under the modulator, then.
"Our captive is a Jedi, idiot. Blinding them does nothing."
Well, not precisely nothing. It was a bit uncomfortable.
Still, she had a point; even in the pitch-darkness of whatever this fabric was, I could tell I'd been tied to a chair with some fairly heavy-duty cables, sat in the centre of a cubic room five metres across, containing four presences. The two who'd spoken were in front of me – one nervous, the other restraining some serious anger. Another two were stood behind me, a metre or so apart, somewhat restless, pointing blaster rifles at the back of my head.
Charming.

The nervous man hurried toward me and fumbled with my bag, eventually dragging it upward. A quick glance in his direction as he scuttled back into the shadows confirmed my suspicions – that had been Merot Orinth.
Well, wasn't this bloody typical.

Best to start with a smile.
"Thanks for that, Merot. Bit stuffy, that thing."
Merot only whimpered in response before the disguised voice spoke again.
"I expect you're wondering why we brought you here, Jedi."
I sighed. "Still not a Jedi, Lirane."
A ripple of surprise. "What?"
I grinned. "Same height and build, same accent, ambushing me right outside the place you'd directed me to? You could've at least worn heels, or something."
Lirane deactivated her modulator with a beep.
"So," I continued, "either you fed a story to the ticket guy at the spaceport, or sent Merot along to do some amateur dramatics for him. Then set an ambush outside and dragged me… hmm, I'd guess we're somewhere nearby, or you'd have just ambushed me near my place. A little contrived for a kidnapping, no?"
I didn't even have to look at their faces to know I'd hit the nail on the head.

Lirane leaned forward. "Well, aren't you a clever one. I should have expected as much from Kalon's murderer."
This was news to me. "Kalon Longbar is dead?"
"Don't play the fool with me," she hissed, letting some of that anger show, "it was simple to piece things together – first, Kalon dies mysteriously in prison on Byblos. Two days later, you return to Coruscant after supposedly completing a mission on nearby Loronar. Then, after another week, you flee the Jedi Temple and the Republic for the Outer Rim. Case closed."
This sounded like ronto scrag.
"So I was your first suspect?"
"Of course you were," she snapped, "after poor Kalon was stripped of everything he'd worked so hard for on some trumped-up charge, I kept an eye on every one of you self-righteous Jedi scum responsible for his downfall. Of those left alive, you were the only one not on Coruscant when my poor brother met his end, it had to have been you!"
A giant steaming pile of ronto scrag. Still, she'd let something slip.
"Your brother? You're telling me you're Ferese Longbar?"
A quiet curse told me I was right. Kalon's younger sister had had nothing to do with her brother's dealings, as far as the investigation could make out – she'd been living on the family's native Corellia all her life up to that point, and spent a good portion of the trial screaming about how we'd dreamt up a huge pack of lies to smear Kalon with.
"Ferese Thurron now," she snarled, "and I knew you weren't finished with him. I knew one of you would finish what you started when that master of yours maimed him on that rooftop."
Maimed was going a bit far. Rezak had cut Longbar's blaster in half, taking three fingertips with it. With his family's wealth, he could easily afford replacements even in prison.

It was then that I noticed a small prickle at the back of my mind. Another presence was approaching, a damn strong one, zeroing in on me. With it, an odd echo, one which was intimately familiar.
What in the hell is she doing?

Ferese was still ranting, and hadn't noticed my brief lapse in attention.
"…so superior, so smug, like being one with the Force even means anything to real people. I'll show them. You're coming back with me, we'll clear Kalon's name and then they'll shove you in some dank hole to rot until nobody remembers your name! Men?"
The goons behind me stiffened their stances attentively. "Ma'am?"
"Subdue the prisoner and prepare for transport."

Three things happened in the space of a few seconds.
First, Ferese turned away from me, motioning for Merot to follow her.
Second, the thugs holstered their blasters and drew stun-rods.
Third, a small metal cylinder dropped out of a vent onto Merot's head.
"What the—"

Luckily for me, the goons' stunsticks were calibrated for humans. Baseline humans who hadn't been trained in how to keep conscious even when some serious wattage was shooting through their neurons. To take out anyone with Jedi training, you'd need to up your charge by at least an order of magnitude.
That's not to say it didn't hurt.
"AaaaaAAAAAaaaAAAAAAAARGH."
See?

Even with the pain setting my nerve endings on fire, I'd managed to keep track of the metal object across the room. Under my mental direction, it now flew toward me sprouting a gleaming blade the colour of a summer sky, which neatly sliced through two of the cables tying me to the chair, enough for me to force (well, Force) the rest off me, before finally settling in my outstretched palm.

I turned toward the thugs, who were staring at my lightsabre as though it was a Dathomiri blacksnake.
"She's not paying you enough for this. I suggest running."
As one, the pair dove at me, swinging their weapons, which promptly cut themselves into pieces on my blade. The most difficult part was angling my guard so as to not chop off any incoming limbs.
"Seriously, just run. I won't follow you."
From behind me came a high-pitched, unintelligible scream as Ferese deftly drew a small blaster pistol and fired wildly in my direction. Spinning round, I leaned away from the first bolt, let the next three miss and deflected the fifth into the chair I'd just vacated. A grunt and a flash of pain from the corner told me she'd managed to hit one of her mercs, and the other quickly dived to the floor to avoid any more stray shots.
"She's a loony," growled the injured grunt. I silently agreed.

By this point, Merot had disappeared, presumably fleeing as fast as his legs could carry him. Ferese was still firing at me, wild-eyed, screeching some improbable threat involving my lightsabre and a couple of my body cavities.
She kept at it for a while as I stood there, silently batting her better shots aside as if I were back at the academy during blaster-remote lessons. I figured she had three, maybe four minutes until she'd drained her energy cell and I could restrain her.
Or I guess I could just knock her over. Maybe try that trick Kiral showed me where you invert a blaster's charge polarity as it's firing and completely fry its circuitry.
As I considered, trying to tune out Ferese's cursing, I was suddenly deprived of my choice by a rather larger projectile heading my way; it seemed my attacker had lost patience and decided to throw her weapon at me instead. I parried, and the pistol hit the floor in pieces.

As she turned to run, a gesture swept Ferese's feet from under her and she became more closely acquainted with the permacrete floor than she might have expected. Three seconds later, I had closed the distance and now stood over her, lightsabre still active but not held ready to strike.
"Go on then," she snarled, "do it. Kill me like you killed Kalon, you damned schutta-spawned Jedi."
"No."
A flick of a switch, and my blade shrank back into its hilt.
"I'm no murderer, Ferese. I'm sorry to hear about your brother, I really am, but it was nothing to do with me."
Something about the way she spat on the floor suggested Ferese wasn't convinced.
"Who then, if not you?"
"No idea. Maybe someone Kalon stepped on when he was a senator, maybe a hired hit from someone he owed. Didn't the Byblosians investigate?"
"They found nothing. Damned incompetents only spent four months on it before giving up."
"Still, bringing me to them in chains without any hard evidence won't do much. They might make a show of questioning me just to shut you up, but all that would do is waste both their time and the credits you'd have to spend to transport me to the Core regions."

After another minute of glowering at me, Ferese stood up, straightening her robe after her fall.
"Damn it, you're right. I'll let you go this time, problem solver, but know this: if I find proof of any kind that you did have a hand in Kalon's murder, I'll be back. And I won't bother trying to take you alive."
Probably about as good as I could hope for.
"Thank you. Now, if you don't mind, I need to take a look at that guy over there you just shot."
Ferese turned on her heel and strode out of the room, the anger swirling around her now infused with just the slightest whiff of doubt. I could only hope that doubt would grow to eclipse what she felt about the whole situation, but I wasn't holding my breath.

"That should do it. It'll hurt like hell when it wears off, but you should be able to walk for long enough to find some bacta to slap on it."
It was a simple enough technique; if you directed it properly, a small Force pulse sent through the skin was enough to temporarily knock out the nerve endings in a certain area, deadening any pain you might be feeling there.
I'd have tried healing him more completely, if not for the fact that, one, I've never been very good at it; two, my head was already pounding after the recent clobbering and I'd no intention of making it worse; and three, it's not a good idea to advertise that kind of ability around here.
Still, it was enough to impress the mercenary and his chum.
"Thanks, pal. Y'know, you Jedi ain't half bad. Ex-Jedi. Whatever."
With that, they departed, presumably in search of either a doctor or a stiff drink. I gave it about a minute, then raised my voice again.
"You can come out now."

A vent cover on the wall slid aside and Shaari's head appeared, swiftly followed by the rest of her.
"Please don't be mad," she mumbled, wringing her hands, "I just got this… this feeling you might need that. It was weird, like your sabre… led me to you."
Ooookay. That was probably the most frightening thing I'd heard all day.
"I'm not angry, but… damn it, Shaari, you could've got yourself killed. If there'd been more guards, if Ferese was thinking a bit clearer, if…" I trailed off. There were so many ways that could have gone sideways.
Shaari hung her head. "I just wanted to help…"
"It's not that I don't appreciate it – you certainly made things easier, no mistake there – but I was a Jedi. If anyone on this moon is going to be able to handle themself, it'll be me."
The girl nodded, but both her expression and the ripples she made in the Force told a different story.
"I just…" I sighed, running a hand through my hair, "… just don't like you being in danger. Of any sort. You've been through enough."
And she'll probably go through more. The Force won't leave someone like that alone.
Concealing my weapon in my jacket, I motioned to my young friend and we left.

After a somewhat uneventful walk (only one attempted mugging) we arrived at the apartment to find two surprises: one, old Ferl passed out in the doorframe again; two, a flimsiplast roughly wedged into the mailbox. I passed the flimsi to Shaari and bent down to begin the arduous process of slapping the Ithorian awake.
As it turned out, I needn't have bothered – a sudden squeak from the Twi'lek's direction did the job for me.
"What?"
"Look, Janis, look at this!"
I took the slightly crushed polymer, stretching it out so I could read it. To my surprise, it displayed a receipt for a transfer of 500 credits to me, and a small note.

I suppose you did find him.
F

Well, wasn't that something.

Two hours later, I was sat staring at the door to Shaari's room, where she'd quickly fallen asleep.
A bit early for her, but fine by me – a little privacy allowed me time with my own troubled thoughts.
That was the thing about no longer sticking to the tenets of the Order; Jedi, proper Jedi, don't have doubts. Doctrine holds that the Force has all the answers, and if you're patient then they'll be revealed to you.
But I couldn't just sit and wait. Passive acceptance wasn't part of who I was any more.

The girl was seriously powerful – with a few years' training, she was potentially strong enough to rival even my old Master. To be able to sense that I was in trouble from kilometres away and use the imprint I'd left on my lightsabre after decades of use to find me was damn near unheard of. Any full-fledged Jedi could have managed it without too much bother, but as far as I knew Shaari didn't even know she was Force sensitive.
If she'd been discovered ten years ago, it would have been off to the Jedi with her without question. My own issues with them aside, they would still have been the best bet for teaching her to control her talents.
Sixteen was, however, far too old for the Jedi's comfort.

Do I tell her?
If not, then she might find out anyway - and she won't be pleased that I hid it from her. And the dark side just loves kids like that.
If I do reveal this, if she opens up to the universe… she'll need training. If not the Jedi, then someone outside them who won't try to use her for their own ends.
I suppose the question is, do I trust myself to guide this burgeoning talent? Am I capable of helping this young adept tame her power?

Or will history repeat itself?