"You're leaving?" she asks, standing in the open doorway of their room. He can tell that she's trying to be strong, but the anger that she's putting in her voice is only there to hide the fear.

"Yes." He doesn't turn around to face her – can't, because he knows what he'll see and that will shatter him into pieces – and keeps on packing a duffel bag. Even after so much has changed, almost all of his things can still fit in one bag. It's sadder now than it might have once been.

"Why?"

He stills, only for a second, but that tiny hesitation is enough to propel her forward and the door shuts behind her, leaving them alone. She's cornering him. He's been cornered before by a lot worse, but this feels like a cold knife is being slowly dragged down his spine. She's always been fierce, but this is different. Being alone with her right now is too dangerous. It'll make him falter. He wouldn't have even blinked at a question like that before her.

"I have to go," he tells her.

She scoffs. "You have to? Don't be ridiculous."

"It's the only way," he says, and he wonders how many times he has said that. She's never questioned him before when he left for missions, but he knows the question was there and he always thought the same thing. He had to do it; it was the only way. It's always been like that, for as long as he can remember. A finger on the trigger, a body at his feet, a voice silenced forever, a smile in the face of ruin. The only way.

However, she must sense the finality in his words because she steps right behind him, placing a hand on his arm. It causes him to freeze and close his eyes. He wants to revel in her touch, but he can't. The ache that pierces him is bad enough. "We can fix this," she insists in a rush of words. "But you can't leave. We can make it right again. I know we can as long as you–"

"No!" he snaps, whirling around on her finally. "We can't."

She blinks at him, eyes wide with shock. They've gotten into plenty of spats before and bickered with each other – it's just a part of their nature, two sides of a coin always butting against one another – but this is another kind of monster, one she hasn't seen in years. He's mad at her for putting this on him, even though he knows it's not her fault. It can't be. He let her in. He allowed this to happen. He wanted it – wanted her. And now it's hurting him, like a blaster shot that went all the way to the bone. He's mad because he wants exactly what she does and he knows – he fucking knows – that he can't have it and it's his own damn fault.

He can't fix it, not the way she wants.

Slowly, that shock fades away, shuttered into anger again, and she pulls away from him. He instantly misses her contact and close presence, but doesn't reach out to her like every inch of him is screaming to do. The fact that he doesn't must strike her because there's hurt on her face too. It has been a very long time since he has been the cause of that kind of pain for her and it's both the worst and best thing he could've done in the situation.

Still, she resolves herself, juts her chin up. She won't let go, not that easily. She's stronger than him. "Then I can go with you. We can do it together. I know how to survive."

"No," he says quietly, "it's too dangerous."

"What? Am I too weak all of a sudden? I took care of myself on my own for years."

He shakes his head and repeats, "It's too dangerous."

She stares at him for a moment, trying to read him. He's become easier for her to read, despite himself. He doesn't know how it happened except that it did and he liked it. He doesn't like it now though. If she can see what he's trying to hide, he doesn't know how he'll be able to hold up against her. Already the small distance between them feels like a chasm and it's too much.

Finally, she says, "You don't want me to come with you, do you?"

It's not for the reasons she thinks. It's not what he wants. And he knows how much it will hurt her, how much it will sting and wreck this thing that they'd created between them, but he says, "No, I don't," and watches with an impassive expression as her face crumples.

She bites her lip, holding in a slew of words, and nods her head in a short, jerky manner. He keeps his mouth closed and his eyes blank as she turns on her heels and walks out of the room. When the door shuts, he takes a moment to breathe and then returns to his packing. He leaves the one photo of the two of them behind on the bed even though it demands to be taken. It's safer here anyways. He can't afford to bring it with him. He doesn't want to bring danger to her doorstep because he knows she'll invite it in out of spite.

Instead of leaving him with the slight, empty feeling he usually gets when he steps out of someone's life, it feels as if a surgeon has taken a scalpel and scraped him hollow. This pain, he knows, won't go away with time.


They'd pumped him with more drugs to dangerous levels. Because of his own stubbornness. He was resisting again. His mind flittered briefly to the photo he'd left behind, but he couldn't focus on it for long. The drugs were too strong, pulling him from one memory to hallucination to the next. He could've sworn his mother whispered some old lullaby to him, but that was impossible. She was long dead.

Due to the potency of the drugs, they didn't return for him for at least a day. Hell, it might've been a week. He was in no state to form coherent thoughts, much less sentences. He would've been useless, incapable of answering even the simplest of questions without drifting elsewhere. Of course, that was where they wanted him. So weak and confused that they could pry information out of him. He needed to be somewhat in the room though for it to work or they'd get nothing but gibberish.

When they finally dragged him back to the room, the two men had to basically carry him. He couldn't find his feet for longer than a few seconds. In the room, they dropped him in his seat and he fell hard, wincing at the pain. The drugs was making his bones begin to feel like glass, although it might've been from the lack of food. They fed him periodically, whenever he pleased the person interrogating him, like a reward, but after this last time, he had been given nothing in return.

"You look terrible, Cassian," the man informed him. "How are you feeling?"

Somehow, Cassian managed a very pitiful smile. "Never…better."

"Using humor to deflect now, are we?" The man shook his head. "You must be even worse off than I thought."

Well, Cassian couldn't deny that. His head tipped back and he chuckled, though there was no humor in it. He was worn down so thin. He'd been captured before, interrogated and tortured, but nothing like this. There had been no kindness in them, no pleasantries to remind him of his humanity, no back and forth. This…extraction felt so much worse. It was like they were digging him out of a grave, but only one limb at a time, while his head was still under, when all he wanted to do was be left alone in peace.

"Are you ready to talk about her?" the man asked.

Cassian held his hands out, though he kept his arms on the chair. "What do you want to know?"

"She's still with the Rebellion, yes?"

"As far as I know," Cassian replied as evenly as he could. "I haven't seen her in a few weeks. Been aboard a ship."

The man smiled at him. "The lives of those in the Rebellion can be a fickle thing, but she's still alive. We received confirmation of it this morning. Just couldn't be for sure if she was acting on her own or not."

That got his attention. His eyes focused on the man. "You're keeping tabs on her?"

"Well, she's important to you, isn't she?" the man said. There was humor in his voice and even on his face as he watched Cassian's reaction. Cassian couldn't school himself nearly as well before. His eagerness to know more must've been betrayed on his face because the man nodded his head to himself. "We were wondering what she might think of this entire thing – you being here, telling us your secrets, us…not so delicately pulling them out."

Cassian turned his head away. "I'm not so sure she'd be unhappy about it."

"Oh?"

"We didn't…" Cassian closed his eyes. He thought about the last time he had seen her – the way her face had fallen. He'd done that and he'd done it on purpose. "We didn't part on the best of terms."

"So she doesn't know that you came scrambling towards a potential enemy the second you were abandoned?"

"All she knows," Cassian sighed as he opened his eyes, "is that I was compromised and my presence endangered the Rebellion, so I was forced out. You cut off a finger to save the hand. It's that simple."

The man scrolled through a datapad on his lap. For once, he seemed content with Cassian's answer, but then, it was the whole truth. He'd always been scant on details of his missions with her, out of habit and for her own good, but this had been different. He had given her nothing than what she already knew.

"We admittedly don't have many records of her," the man pointed out. "Our attack on the Alliance was very specific. She's not assigned to Intelligence."

"Jyn, Intelligence?" Cassian would've laughed if he was stronger. "She'd rather blast her way through something than sneak."

"And yet you two worked very well together." The man set the datapad aside. "Everyone more or less knows what happened on Scarif. She's a very wanted woman by the Empire. There's quite a sum on that pretty head of hers."

"As large as mine?"

The man grinned. "You don't have an official bounty on your head yet – we haven't agreed on a price with the Empire for the other half of the information we retrieved – but once they do, I'm sure they'll be frothing at the mouths to get a hold of you."

So the data they'd stolen from the Alliance wasn't completely known yet. They'd only released enough of it to prove that they were serious and had legitimate info. It didn't matter. He was still compromised and the Alliance had left him in the wind. All he had was himself and thanks to the drugs there were plenty of moments when he didn't know if he even had that.

"That'll be a nice chunk of credits for you," Cassian mused. "Bonuses for…everyone on the ship."

"Well, don't cast us as the villains just yet," the man told him. "We control the flow of information. Not all of it has to get passed to the Empire, just what we deem necessary. They wouldn't be any wiser." He leaned forward, his fingers interlocking on his knees. "If we can gain more by giving less, then that's the route we'll take."

Cassian watched the man for as long as he could. It was hard to look straight at someone, especially the person who was responsible for interrogating him for who knew how long, but he had to be appeared somewhat straight for this. He couldn't falter. (He couldn't think of Jyn or Kaytoo or anyone that meant anything to him.) "I can be useful."

"That's what we're hoping for, Cassian," the man said intently.

"Do you work for the Empire?"

The man leaned back in his seat. "No, we work for ourselves. The Empire, the Alliance… They're all corrupt in the end. You've seen that firsthand – been a part of it." He tilted his head in that curious manner that Cassian had come to recognize. This was a very observant man, more so than him. "Can you live with that?"

A thin, cold smile crossed Cassian's face. "I've lived with a lot of things."

And he had and he would. That was the way his life had been since he'd been born. There was nothing that he'd had to bounce back from because that was just who he was.


The food they gave him was almost too rich and the water too cold, but he was running completely on fumes and had to force himself to eat and drink. He went slowly, knowing that if he devoured everything like his stomach was demanding, he'd only managed to get himself sick and he needed this sustenance is he was going to make it through the next round. He didn't know what it would be or if it would be anything at all, but he had to be ready.

This was the first time he'd been in a room on the ship that wasn't his white holding cell or the cozy office they'd turned into an interrogation room. He sat at the end of a table in the kitchen, far away from any of the things that could do some damage. They seemed to trust him more, but not enough to put a knife in his hands. The only utensil they'd given him was a fork, but he mostly picked at the food with his fingers, not caring about manners. Two guards stood a few feet away from him, seemingly unconcerned with him.

Once he was finished, they instructed him to put his plate away and then took him back to his holding cell. A mat was lying on the floor against the wall, the only other thing in the room besides himself. They waited until he was standing over it, tentatively testing it, before turning off the lights.

Oh. They were letting him rest.

The drugs were still in his system, but he hadn't been given another dose. He could only be grateful that the man hadn't asked more questions about Jyn. Truth be told, Cassian had been nervous that they would and he hadn't known if he would be capable of beating around them. Those drugs were insanely strong. He'd only managed to barely avoid everything spilling out of him the second he'd been told that they were keeping tabs on her.

How was she doing? What was she doing? Where had they seen her? Did she look okay? Was she acting out angrily or staying cool? How close had they gotten to her? What did they want from her?

He should've known that he couldn't keep her completely out of this. If they knew anything about him, they knew about her. He had a feeling Draven had made a point of mentioning her in his record out of irritation or spite, like his association with her was some sort of mark against him when it came to picking operatives for missions. He had never thought of it like that. If anything, he'd pushed himself even harder after meeting her.

A man with nothing to lose will do anything, but a man fighting for something is truly dangerous. He hadn't understand that before. All he'd had was the Rebellion and while he'd thought that it was the only thing that mattered and he'd never stopped believing in it, somewhere along the line, it had become a habit. Everything I do, I do for the Rebellion. But what then? What after? It was impossible to imagine what would happen to him if they did accomplish their goals.

Peace wasn't meant for someone like him.

Cassian laid down on the mat, allowing his body to relax, and closed his eyes. The last time he'd slept in a bed, Jyn's warm body had been curled up next to his. She made herself smaller when she slept, like she was trying to hide or make herself less of a target. She didn't cling to him or throw herself over him. It had taken her time before she'd been comfortable enough to not try to put some space in between them even after they'd done nearly everything to eliminate space just moments before.

It was dangerous to think of that now, but he couldn't help himself. Maybe it was on purpose, meant to lull him into a state of contentment or peace to trick him into thinking the worst was over, but he needed this. He wouldn't ignore the possibility that it was something sinister and so he didn't relax entirely, but before he knew it, sleep took over and he was unconscious. Dreams came, but nothing concrete enough for him to remember. She wasn't in them. He had to wonder if that meant she really was gone from him.


"You look like shit, Andor."

Cassian didn't bother trying to hide the shock on his face. It wouldn't do him any good right now to be unreadable. The person leaning against the wall in the corner of the room was someone he recognized and knew. Maybe not well – definitely not well, if he was here – but still unexpected. He was clearly older, but clean-shaven and much healthier-looking than he'd ever been before. The man that had been interrogating him sat behind the desk, watching Cassian's reaction carefully, and then motioned for him to sit.

He did so, slowly, his eyes never leaving the newcomer. "You're dead."

"Am I?" their joiner laughed. "No, no, it's not the drugs. Kriff, I'd hate to think of why you'd hallucinate me. I mean, we did some terrible, shady things together, but nothing too memorable."

"Anthan, I watched you die," Cassian said carefully.

A too cheerful smile found its way onto Anthan's face. He'd always been quick to smile, easy to make friends, chipper, the kind of guy you could have a drink with after a mission well done. People in the Rebellion had liked him and they'd been sad when he'd been killed in action. Much like him, Anthan had spent time in the orphanage, taken in by the Rebellion when he was ten. He'd been just as scrawny as Cassian, who arrived only a few months after him. Unlike Cassian, he had bounced back, adopted when he was eleven. He'd transferred into Intelligence a year after Cassian became officially listed as an officer.

Anthan would joke that Cassian was far too serious. The other boy was only a year older, but he acted as if Cassian was a boring old man, goading him into doing things that he never would've done if it was another operative. At fifteen, he was already higher ranked than Anthan, but that didn't seem to bother him. Anthan was the first person that Cassian had gotten drunk with when he was sixteen and he was also the first person who was pleased, elated even, at Cassian having hijacked an Imperial security droid.

"You watched me walk into a factory to save a man left behind," Anthan replied, like he was correcting a child and all too happy to watch their world burn. "A factory that blew up when the charges you planted prematurely went off, killing me, a fellow operative, and the people inside." He held up a finger. "Ah, well, not me. And you didn't kill that operative either. He was already dead."

"You faked your death." Cassian sank back in his seat. "Why?"

"Cassian, you of all people should know that short of committing treason, the only way to leave the Rebellion is to die and even then, treason probably ends in death as well." Anthan dropped his hand, folding his arms across his chest, and shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "And well, I'd already done the former so I knew I had to leave before I was found out."

Anger flared in Cassian's mind, but something worse, something he couldn't remember feeling. Betrayal. It had been a long time since someone he'd thought he trusted actually betrayed him, but even worse, it had never been so personal. Cassian had been twenty-three when Anthan had ran into that factory and never came back out. He'd spent years believing that he'd killed one of his own due to an idiot mistake.

"The Rebellion honored you like a hero," Cassian snapped. "We mourned you."

"Did you?" Anthan scoffed. "You're a cold one, Andor, always have been. Even when I convinced you to drink with me, you remained distant. I didn't think you were capable of caring about anyone except that bloody robot."

Cassian bit back a scowl and just glowered. He couldn't deny the truth. He had kept everyone at an arm's length, even Anthan with his friendly personality. Cassian had always found him a bit much, but he was good on missions when it came to dealing with people. He'd taught Cassian how to at least pretend to be open, to smile more, to laugh, to be casual and act careless. Sometimes, he couldn't be sure if Anthan was acting or if he really was like that. It could make a mission go smoothly or blow up in their face and it never seemed to make a difference to him either way.

At the end of the day though, after Anthan's death, Cassian had learned to put him out of his mind. He couldn't think about his mistakes when he was laying down his next charges; he could only focus on what he was doing now. Eventually, Anthan joined the box where Cassian put all his other regrets and sins that he could ignore.

"You hacked the Alliance records," Cassian stated.

"For the right price, of course," Anthan replied. "Imagine my surprise when I found out that you were still alive and operating. Hell, all those deep cover missions, I thought for sure you'd be dead." He whistled, almost like he was admiring Cassian for having survived this long. They hadn't turned out that much differently: both of them had thought the other dead. "I had to dig around deep to find more on you. Kriff, your file was so dry. But when I found out about your involvement on Scarif, wow, that was surprising."

"It's not in there?" Cassian asked, feeling a little surprised himself.

Anthan shook his head. "I don't know how Draven did it, but he managed to keep that kind of important detail out of there. I suppose he didn't want anyone knowing of your involvement, not you, his favorite operative. If the Empire knew about that, you wouldn't be of much use in Intelligence."

It all made sense. A part of Cassian had wondered how he could still do Intelligence missions when everyone knew about the rebel group that had infiltrated an Imperial base to steal the Death Star plans. They hadn't been a part of the huge ceremony, only given smaller medals after, but people still knew them. It was partly why Jyn couldn't do many Intelligence missions with him unless her appearance was altered somehow. For Cassian though, it had never been an issue. Once he'd healed, he was back on board.

This time, when Anthan flashed a smile, Cassian was finally able to recognize that smile for what it truly was. It was a snake's smile, not one from a friend. He didn't know how he had never recognized it before. "They played up Jyn Erso's role instead to cover it up. She's a pretty, little thing, isn't she? Feisty too, considering her record before joining the Rebellion. We only targeted Alliance Intelligence records, but I was intrigued by the woman that showed up in yours more than anyone else." He laughed outright. "Draven really doesn't like her, does he? You can tell in the reports."

"Draven doesn't like anyone really," Cassian pointed out.

"True," Anthan said, "but did you know that the Alliance keeps the most inane records available?" He pushed away from his spot at the wall and moved to the desk where a datapad was lying. With a few hits, he was able to find what he was looking for. "Here's a request for a room transfer." Anthan's green eyes were practically glowing with mirth when he glanced back at Cassian. "You shared a room with her? Force be good, that's one hell of a move for a man who could barely manage a hug without faking everything." He set the datapad down and eagerly moved to the seat across from him that the man usually sat at during the interrogations. "I'd love to get my hands on the woman that thawed that cold heart of yours. She must be something."

Cassian almost shot up out of his seat, but a hand on his shoulder from one of the guards roughly shoved him back down. "You stay away from her!"

Anthan hooted with laughter and tossed a look over his shoulder at the man, who still had not said a word and was merely watching the exchange. "Did you hear that? Honestly, what did you do to him? That's more emotion I've seen out of him than the entire time I knew him."

Finally, the man stood up and nodded his head. "That's enough goading."

The guard pulled his hand off Cassian's shoulder and took a step back. Cassian sank back in his seat, trying to appear relaxed, but he was having trouble wrapping his mind around everything. He'd slept most of the drugs off, but the aftereffects were still there, creeping up on him. He remembered a moment in the mess hall when Anthan had a laughing female pilot in his lap, but suddenly he pictured Jyn instead and knew that wasn't right. He shook his head, trying to get the false memory out.

"What do you think?" the man asked.

"I've been monitoring everything since the data was stolen and it all checks out," Anthan replied casually. "It appears as if the Rebellion did cut their losses with him. Remarkable Draven didn't suggest just killing or locking him up since Andor knows too much. Draven's a cold, cynical bastard like that."

It honestly was a miracle that it hadn't been suggested. Spies were dangerous alive for what they had in their heads; they were even worse if they were captured. But then Draven had never been concerned with Cassian. He had always believed that Cassian would make the right choice if he knew that he couldn't take the interrogation or at least that was what he had thought. Maybe Draven's faith in him truly had waned after Jyn.

"Can we use him?" the man questioned. "Or should we cut our losses as well?"

Anthan turned to survey Cassian, who stared right back at him. Of course it made Cassian uneasy to know that his fate was in the hands of a man that had not only betrayed him but also the Rebellion. He'd been leery of Anthan before, but because he hadn't liked people trying to buddy up with him. It also made him wary to know that their first meeting in years hadn't gone smoothly on his end. He'd been antagonistic towards Anthan. He should have been calmer, but instead, he'd been angry, volatile even.

"I think," Anthan began without looking away from him, "that as long as we don't touch his precious Jyn, he'll do the job. He's got nowhere else to go. The Rebellion won't take him. The Empire will kill him." Anthan turned his attention to the man. "Cassian Andor will always be that boy that needs something to believe in. We give him the 'good' missions and he'll be a good, little operative."

Cassian closed his eyes and breathed. I can be useful. I can still get the job done.

"Alright then," the man said. "Take him to his room. Welcome to the club, Cassian."

When he opened his eyes, Cassian saw the man and Anthan both looking at him intently. And there, tucked in the corner of the room, as if she'd been there the entire time just out of his line of sight, is Jyn. She's wearing her normal clothes, but with his Alliance jacket on top. It's too large for her, of course, but she was always fond of wearing it when they were stationed on Hoth while in the sanctuary of his quarters. She lifts one finger to her lips, the sleeve of his jacket falling down to reveal the pale skin of her hand, and then winks at him.

Cassian shook the man's hand and didn't even blink.


As they walked down the hallway, Cassian kept quiet, his mind just as silent. Anthan walked next to him, pep in his step, whistling a light tune. Only one guard was with them now, the one that had shoved Cassian back into his seat; he walked a few paces behind them, relaxed, his blaster at his side. They walked with purpose now that Cassian didn't need to be dragged everywhere. He was still fairly weak, but he told himself that he'd felt worse. This wasn't Scarif after all.

"You know, I'm really happy you're here, Andor," Anthan stated. Cassian looked at him sideways. That smile was back on his face again. How had Cassian missed it before? Anthan had been a better Intelligence officer than Cassian had given him credit for. He'd managed to trick all of them. "I mean, you know what it was like to work in the Rebellion. It wasn't nearly as glorious as they'd made it out to be."

"No," Cassian replied flatly, "it wasn't."

Anthan gave him a sly look. "But you didn't care about that, did you? No, to you, the Rebellion meant something. You actually believed in it. The Rebellion was your whole world."

There wasn't a point in denying it. The two of them had known each other long enough. It may have been years since they'd seen one another, but Anthan had also seen his file and he'd seen Cassian's work firsthand. He knew just how dirty Cassian was willing to get his hands when it came to a mission, even as a teenager. Anthan would bemoan Cassian for being a stick in the mud, never willing to let loose, especially not on a mission. There wasn't room for fun in those days.

"What's it feel like to be tossed out like trash after everything you gave them? After all they took from you, they just left you out in the cold." Anthan clucked his tongue, like it was a damn shame. What a pity. Poor Cassian. The Rebellion took and it took, but it could never give, not until the Empire was destroyed. Even then, would it make up for all that he'd done? He'd hoped that Scarif would help with that and it had, for a while, but everything had caught up with him again eventually, as it always did. "You really loved that girl, didn't you? And even that they made you give up. Did she choose the Rebellion over you? Or did you leave her to protect her? Ah, you won't tell me. You're a close-lipped bastard."

Would Jyn choose the Rebellion over him as she assumed he had done to her? She believed in it, yes, but she had never been as fully committed to it as him, not even after she'd joined up. To her, it was personal. She hated the idea that her father's legacy would be the death of billions, no matter what he'd done in an attempt to stop it. In the end, it was only natural for her to fight the Empire and the Rebellion offered her the best chance. But she had ignored orders before and she would do it again if it meant something more.

I can go with you.

She would've hated seeing him like this. He could only picture her howling and fuming with rage. They would've turned her into a caged animal here, just as she'd been on Wobani, except her bite would've been much worse. He couldn't accept that for her.

"But no, I truly am happy you're here," Anthan continued, "because I get to see how far you've fallen. Draven's wonderkid brought so low. It's a pleasure, really."

Cassian gave him a blank lookover. "Glad I could make your day."

"It'll be even better when we get more information out of you." Anthan actually had the nerve to flick him in the head, like they were two teenagers again on a recon mission. "Anyone can fall and anyone can turn traitor, even you, if the price is right."

"Hm, I've yet to find one."

"And Erso?"

"She'd obliterate you," Cassian said. "I guess we'll find out."

Anthan turned to give him a confused look. While he was still a little sluggish, Cassian gathered all the energy he had been saving the last day and hoped that adrenaline would do the rest. He jabbed the side of his hand as hard as he could into Anthan's throat, causing him to immediately wheeze and buckle over from the pain, stumbling against the wall to stay on his feet.

Turning as quick as he could, Cassian kicked the guard's wrist as he went to level the blaster at him and then stabbed the fork that he'd saved and hid up his sleeve into the other man's neck. He'd bent the other prongs down so that only one remained, turning it into a small dagger. The man's hand flew to the metal spike in his neck, his eyes widening with panic, but Cassian held it there as he lowered the guard to the ground.

"You can pull it out and bleed out in less than a minute," Cassian growled as he let go of the spike and picked up the blaster, "or you can lie very still and pray the Force has mercy on you, but you'll probably die either way."

By the time he stood up straight and turned back around, Anthan was just now pulling himself up, but he still had a hand held protectively against his throat and was red in the face. Cassian took his blaster away as well, tucking it into the back of his pants, and jerked Anthan away from the wall so that he could press the guard's blaster into the small of his back and move him forward.

"Why?" Anthan managed to rasp. "The Rebellion…won't take you…back."

Cassian didn't bother answering him. Instead, he focused on getting to one of the smaller ships on board. His ship was a lost cause. They'd be able to track any of the ships easily, but that wasn't the point. In the small area where they were docked, he found two guards. Deciding quickly, knowing it wouldn't be long before the guard in the hallway was down, he pulled out the other blaster and trained it on the farthest guard. He took a deep breath and then squeezed the trigger. It hit them, knocking them off a railing. When the other guard spun around, he shot at her, missing first and nearly getting a blaster to the face for it, and then hit her with the second shot.

With the coast as clear as it could be, he shoved Anthan forward and used his handprint to get them onto one of the ships. With Anthan slowly recovering, Cassian found a pair of binders and hooked him tightly to a ladder. He quickly got to work on starting the ship. As soon as it began to start, alarms went off around them and Cassian scowled as he tried to work faster. His mind kept slipping though. Just when he didn't need it the most, the drugs were having their last laugh at him.

"You won't make it," Anthan insisted in a gasping voice. "They won't help you. The ones running the Alliance only serve the Rebellion in the end, not the people."

"Maybe," Cassian replied as he gritted his teeth and pushed through it. He could hear laughter echoing in the background and thought for a second that it was Anthan, but then he shook his head roughly and it went away. Not here, not now. "Maybe not."

"They abandoned you to die!" Anthan cried out frantically, his voice rough. It must've hurt him to talk so loudly. It was a satisfying thought, one that grounded Cassian. "They don't need you! You're no longer a part of them!"

Cassian glanced back at him. "Am I?"

Anthan blanched. "No, no, no, no. I would've known. I would've heard something. They cut you off." He jerked against his binders, but they didn't move. When the ship detached and started to move, he slipped and would've fallen if he hadn't been cuffed to the ladder. "Compromised like this, you'd be worthless. They burned you!"

"Officially, yes, I'm no longer a part of the Rebellion, completely cut off," Cassian replied evenly as he flipped the last of the switches. "Unofficially? You said it yourself: the only way you leave is if you die."

As more guards and soldiers appeared to fire at the ship, Cassian pulled out of the hanger and allowed the ship to coast into space. Anthan fought furiously, but could do little more than hurt himself. He wasn't as willing to go to the same lengths as Cassian. He wouldn't break his own wrist or dislocate his shoulder to get out of the binders. He was too weak. A man fighting for himself will only do so much.

"You can't escape! You'll be captured and killed! If not by this group, then by the Empire! You–"

An explosion rocked the ship, knocking them off balance, but if Cassian had waited any longer, other ships would have started following. It sucked right all the fight out of Anthan. He could only silently watch with wide eyes and a stunned expression as the large cruiser they had just been on was destroyed. There was a chain reaction of explosions, starting with the ship they'd found Cassian on. Flames blossomed around the ship, promptly sucked away by the vacuum that was space.

"We…we checked your ship…" Anthan mumbled. "There wasn't a bomb…"

"This ship was the bomb," Cassian said without a hint of emotion as he programed a course into the ship's mainframe. "I've learned a thing or two about explosives since I killed you."

Once the course was set, Cassian sat still at the controls, watching the ship disintegrate into floating pieces. He couldn't be for sure how many people had been on that ship, not when they'd let him in only three rooms. For a brief moment, he paused and closed his eyes. There would be no screams to haunt him this time, having been lost in space, but that didn't mean he wouldn't think about them. Their deaths would lie heavily on his conscience. He could only tell himself that this time many lives would be saved directly due to his actions. Someone had to bear the weight in order for others to rise to the top; he just hoped that he could stand to carry a little more.

Opening his eyes, he returned to the controls and worked on getting them out of here. It wouldn't be long before someone, most likely involved with the Empire, came to investigate. They were waiting on correspondence from this ship, after all. The information they were counting on would be gone though. A destroyed computer or corrupted chip they could possibly save information from, but the only thing left was pieces. There would be no putting this back together. It was gone and the person who did it as well.

"You should be happy, Anthan," Cassian pointed out as the hyperdrive started up. "You'll be presumed dead again instead of the Empire believing you've gone traitor."

His captive did not find that anything to be amused or happy about. Anthan sagged against the wall, only the binders holding him up, his eyes locked on nothing outside the window. Cassian ignored him, putting any of his personal feelings on the backburner. Sure, he wanted to sock Anthan right in the jaw for everything that he'd done. Good men and women had died because of him and others had been put in jeopardy and perilous situations.

Out of all the ones compromised, they couldn't even be for sure how many Intelligence operatives remained alive, having cut off contact with them. It would be a lot of work to find them and get them back home, if it would even be worth risking it. Cassian wasn't going to sugarcoat things when he'd never done it before. He knew that if his identity had been one of the ones released while he was in the field there would have been no rescue. Jyn might have fought for it, but in the end, it would've been too dangerous.

Even the mere chance that his identity and others like him might get released had caused the council to panic. He hadn't been the only Intelligence officer on base when the breach had occurred. Like him, the Rebellion had cut their losses with most of them as well. Many had vanished on their own, some talking with Cassian beforehand. No one wanted to bring heat on the Rebellion and after all the things that they'd done in the dark was brought into the light, that was the only kind of attention they could get. Some went on missions with very small chances of success as others strewn themselves across the stars.

Cassian couldn't be for sure, but he believed that he hadn't been the only one given this mission. Likely their last. He hoped that only Anthan had been their source of information on how Rebel Intelligence worked, but it was all too possible that Cassian had not been the first former spy to get caught and tortured for information. When it was their turn to interrogate Anthan, they would find out.

Hopefully, the Rebellion would take him back. There was always a chance that they would still turn him away, just to be safe. He had prepared for that. Draven had told him that he was either to come back successful or not at all and success had to be perfect. Now that Cassian thought about it, he didn't think Draven had had as much faith in him as before.

"If you get caught, you better do what you've been taught," Draven had said before leaving. "The Alliance will not be behind you on this. You're on your own, as good as out."

Cassian leaned back in the chair and rubbed his face. Despite having rested and eaten the day before, exhaustion was wearing down on him. One night could not make up for all the rest. First though, he would need to ditch this ship and get a clean one, just in case. The last time someone had escaped from the Empire and come straight back to base, they'd brought a Death Star on their tail and he wasn't about to make a rookie mistake like that. But for a minute, just one minute, he breathed and tried to relax. His mind felt like it was being held together by one fragile string and it was so close to breaking.