In a cold sweat, Satine gasped as she shot up, bed covers flying. Panting, her unfocused eyes searched for an invisible enemy in the dark. Yet all that greeted her was the bland, blocky furniture of her temporary bedroom in the Senate building. A faint opaque glow was trying to push through the slits of the velvet shawl that draped over the window—the dawn had yet to arise.

Appeased but still shaken, Satine laid back down heavily, her heart fluttering like a hummingbird in the stagnant dark. The nightmare had been incredibly vivid. She was certain it had been real.

Satine knew there was now no going back to sleep. Every nerve stood on end as the terror of the dream jarred her body awake. She could only remember a few of the images: a faceless shadow, ripping claws, and her own face dissolving into smoke.

Covered in a veil of perspiration, she rubbed the back of her neck and brought her knees to her chest, attempting to stall the shaking. She wrapped her arms around her legs and buried her head.

Last week's surrealistic escapade had not yet left her either—the walk to the Temple, the vision or apparition or whatever it was of Maul, Obi-wan's callousness, and the circular room of spinning, questioning Jedi. She had revealed herself, her trauma to the Masters but they did not provide her any answers. They elected to deliberate further. Meanwhile, they told her to rest, recuperate, and wait for their summons.

At first, she took their advice seriously—she slept a day and a half. Then, she sat on her balcony and watched the horizon, studied the ant-like people down below, felt the hot Coruscant breeze on her icy skin. Then, she slept some more. However, after the third day, she began to feel edgy. Food was brought up to her, but whoever brought it made sure to come when she was occupied and leave before she could thank them.

There was only so much one could do in a room. There was no literature or information, no one ever visited—probably thinking she wanted some peace and quiet.

She puffed a laugh into her chest and rested her cheek on her arm. Memories swirled like fog in her mind, leaping in and out of clarity like a reverie. It was as if they belonged to a different person. She, Satine, Duchess of Mandalore, couldn't have been held hostage by a Sith. She couldn't have been humiliated and tortured like that. Surely it wasn't her.

She lifted a hand to her face to study it. The hospital had been good, but she could still detect pale, wobbly scars from the many beatings and traumas. Tiny stripes of bumpy skin decorated her arms, legs, and neck.

She had a difficult time remembering just where they all came from. One might have been the result of a fall or the imprint of Maul's claw or maybe by her own hand. Many times during her capture she had looked down surprised to see a palm-full of blood because she had been digging her nails so viciously into her flesh—a response to the distress of her situation.

Maul would have labeled such things as being 'dramatic.'

She stopped the train of thought as soon as it cropped up. She couldn't think like that. It would no doubt end horribly with her seeing and hearing things that weren't there, weren't real.

Yet what could be done? How was she to heal if she couldn't process what had happened? The memories of the past months sat lurking, beckoning. Eventually she would have to wade through them, no matter the peril. If she didn't, they would surely overwhelm her again.

I wish I could talk to someone,she thought morosely, but it appeared no one felt the same. They now avoided her like an infectious plague.

Of course she knew who she really wanted to see, but it fared unlikely. Obi-wan was acting like his old, incomprehensible self—bouncing from concerned to callous, from friend to enemy. Satine had no idea when he would become normal—or at least fathomable—again. Even though he alone knew firsthand what had happened on Mandalore, he chose to turn a blind eye, deny her very existence.

They did not even have to talk about the elephant in the room. Couldn't they just sit in each other's company and discuss stupid, silly things like they used to? Even that would be better than nothing—which was what she was getting now.

She glared at the ceiling and lowered her arm absentmindedly.

He's probably off on some general, Jedi job anyway, she mused bitterly.

With a critical eye, she surveyed the same, trite room.

It was silent, annoyingly so. The quiet laughed at her, teased her. After so much, she was reduced to moping in a cushy bed in some opulent building, unable to find a release for her pent-up energy.

She wanted to do something, fight something. It was irritating being the victim constantly.

Well if Obi-wan can be out there, then so can I!

With a grumpy harrumph, she whisked the covers back and leapt out of bed. Bathing, dressing simply in a loose tunic and pants and throwing her hair up, she was ready to start the day…even though she had nothing to do and nowhere to go. Nevertheless, she resolved to leave the room. That was a start.

She was sure she would be chastised for leaving without an escort or some rubbish like that, but she was a grown woman, and she would do what she liked when she liked, she told herself. It had been ages since she had been able to come and go out of own volition, and she was not going to stay in a cell, however luxurious, another moment. Not when ghosts lurked in the walls of her head, ready to possess her.

Marching down the halls, she looked for a prospect. Perhaps she could help out at the kitchens or weed the plants or carry groceries or try and find a library or strike up conversation with a stranger. A thousand ideas sprang to and fro and she wanted to do all of them, yet she was unfamiliar with the area. What she needed was a guide, preferably one who didn't know who she was.

Taking the lift down to the ground floor, she stared jadedly at the crawling rays of light and parting clouds. Even though it was still just before sunrise, it looked like another sweltering day. A blood-orange hue was re-painting the shadowed skyscrapers and coloring the darkened ground, making it appear as if the planet was turning into oozing lava.

She would have to find something to do inside.

Irritated that her options had dwindled, she supposed she could ask a droid where the kitchens were. The Senate was sure to have one, what with the esteemed clientele; however, she was no cook and it had been a time since she even attempted making a meal, but she had always enjoyed the thrum of the chefs and servants as they whistled in and out, carrying and washing dishes, creating delicacies, completely engrossed in their work. Their lives had always appeared far more put together than hers. The simple elegance of the everyday was a tantalizing luxury for a harried Duchess, even more so now that her life had been completely shipwrecked.

As she descended, she noted that the atrium was unusually quiet and empty. Only a few secretive lobbyists stood conferring, their mismatched heads close together and their words in whispers. A shiny, high desk stood against the far wall with servant droids standing attentively behind it.

Clicks, whirs, and a chorus a beeps emanated from the station. Satine took it as a good sign. Stepping confidently off the platform she made a beeline for the counter.

"Excuse me?"

A sparkling silver droid flinched in her direction as she approached.

"Hello Miss!" it trilled, bright yellow eyes flashing. "Welcome to the Senate! What can I do for you this morning?"

Satine smiled and cleared her throat, pleased that the droid did not seem to know her.

"Well I was just wondering," she began meekly. "If you could tell me where the lower levels go?"

"Of course, Miss! The lifts go several levels down from here. At the bottom is where the Senate keeps storage—I'm afraid that is off limits to visitors—one up from there is staff quarters, then there are the kitchen and cleaning service depots, then there's the department of sanitation and grounds-keeping, then…"

The droid listed off a few more floors, none of which intrigued Satine.

"Is there anything else I can do for you Miss?" the droid asked mechanically after it had exhausted all the options.

"No…thank you. You have been most helpful."

"My pleasure, Miss!"

Pleased, Satine whisked back around and made a way back to the lifts. Running the directions over in her head several times, she boarded the platform, jabbed a button, and descended through the floor, into the lower echelons of the massive building. The scenery became increasingly dark as the lift sped quickly down, down, down.

Finally, the platform glided to a halt and Satine stumbled out into a dimly lit corridor. It was narrow with golden-laced lamps hanging on either side of the steel-lined hallway. Listening intently for a sound, Satine could hear nothing but her own shallow breathing.

The lift ascended behind her, whisking out of sight with a tremble.

She wondered if she had gotten off too early or late, for she could not detect at all where she was. She had assumed, perhaps naively, that the servants would be busy and in full force even though the lobby hadn't been.

The odd sense of confidence that had taken her this far began to flounder in the possibility of becoming lost. A nagging part of her wanted to go back and return to the room. At least it was safe there. Yet she found herself quite unwilling to retreat just yet. After all, she was in the capital, in the Senate building no less. It was possibly the securest place to be in the entire galaxy.

You thought you were safe on Mandalore, too, a small voice chirped stubbornly, but she flicked its concerns away.

Taking a shaking breath, she gave a brisk, bracing nod and stepped down the hall. Her shadow danced along beside her as she walked, undulating in the shabby light. Completely unsure of where to go, she wandered aimlessly, always making sure to pick out small landmarks in the scarce furnishings so she would not get lost.

Finally, after a half hour of meandering, she thought she discerned voices and hoped it was a sign of friendly life. Peering cautiously around a corner, she detected a trio of silhouettes. One was surely a droid, for its metallic skin glimmered faintly in the dimness and it stood too unnaturally straight. The other two, Satine couldn't be sure, for they spoke softly and were hunched together into one blob of incoherent shadow.

Then, the party broke apart and took off one after the other down another expanse. Not wanting to lose her chance of finding a way out of this place, Satine bolted from her hiding place and trailed them. She ran on her toes and held her breath as she jogged noiselessly.

The mystery group zigzagged expertly through the maze-like hallways. Satine began to pass locked, strangely marked doorways.

With each step she began to seriously doubt herself. There was now little hope of finding her intended destination, let alone a way back. After another long bout of scrambling, the three figures halted and stood in front of one of the mysterious doors. Biting her lip, Satine decided to cut her losses and reveal herself. Maybe one of these people could help her find her way back to the lift. Yet, something made her hesitate. What if they weren't who she thought they were? What if they were angry that she was down here?

Like a silent clock, the window of opportunity seeped by. At last, she convinced herself that this was her only chance. She had to take it.

Swallowing her ridiculous fear, her dry mouth parted, and she took a cautious step into the open.

"H-hello," she called out with trembling lips. "Could you—?"

All three faces snapped in her direction. One of the figures quickly hid something behind his back.

"Who's there?!" one of them snarled.

Satine gulped. Her body was becoming numb. In a terrified daze, she stepped forward, and held a hand up in greeting.

"Hello," she repeated pathetically. "I think I may be lost. Could you tell me—?"

"Get lost!" a man with massive, buggy eyes and greasy, spider-leg hair hissed in a thick accent. "Employees only!"

Along with the rude, belligerent one, there was the droid she had seen, as well as a spindly, grasshopper-like humanoid. He had been leaning over, but now stood straight, stretching toward the ceiling. A blaster hung on its belt, although it didn't look like it needed any extra help protecting itself.

"Oh, uh, ok," she conceded, trying to keep calm. "It's just that, I have no idea where I am. If you could point me in the right direction I would be most…"

Her plea faded as the group approached her threateningly.

"…grateful," she finished as the bug-eyed leader towered over her.

"Grateful, eh?" he growled, and his voice came out in a waspish hiss. "Alright, we'll show ya where to go. Won't we?"

His tone couldn't have been more foreboding. The droid took off, toward the door. The grasshopper creature took its place. Its skin was a pale, dry green, like dying grass. It had two pairs of unreadable, glassy eyes stacked symmetrically on either side of its face. Its mouth was a set of pincers—they clicked in anticipation.

"Ah, actually, I think I might just—"

"C'mon," the slimy and bee-like man cooed, putting his two-fingered claw on her arm. "We'll help ya out."

He began pulling her down toward where the droid stood prodding the door.

"N-no!" Satine yelped, digging her heels into the carpet. "No! Let me go!"

She pulled away, but the giant, insect being lurched forward and wrapped its long, wiry arms around her. She felt its sharp scales prick against her. Despite its gangly appearance, it was incredibly strong.

"Shh, come easy now…"

"What's going on here?"

All three of them stopped suddenly, a tangle of limbs. Satine was let loose. She gasped and stumbled backward, her head spinning.

"Aw, nothin'," her attacker replied nonchalantly. "We was jus' tryin' to help this girl out. She's sick."

In the back of her mind, Satine heard Maul begin to laugh, jeering. A strong hand wrapped around her arm.

"Satine? Are you alright?"

Obi-wan's bearded face wavered in her sight.

"Y-yes," she choked softly. "Can we go?"

With paling face, she held a cold hand to her clammy forehead. Her thoughts were a jumbled kaleidoscope.

"I'll take it from here, boys," Obi-wan told the alien group smoothly. "Thank you so much for your help."

The man only mumbled a disappointed grunt and turned away. His lumbering companion followed suit, but it whirred an angry buzz.

With a plastic grin, Kenobi led Satine from the hall. His pace was quick, but he kept a tight grip on her. He did not speak.

As they walked, Satine's head began to clear and, as it did, the fright of what could have happened punched her in the gut. Her scalp tingled and her stomach twisted.

She peeked at Obi-wan timidly, not knowing what he thought; worried that he would disappear the minute she was taken care of. From behind, she detected his mounting intensity. His shoulders were hunched, rigid, and his grasp never loosened. Satine did not even try to pull her arm away.

Finally, they stopped. The lift lay still and ready at the end of the familiar hallway. The sight of it made Satine almost collapse in relief.

Then, Obi-wan turned to face her, and any respite vanished.

He was livid.

Nostrils flared, jaw clenched, the veins on his exposed neck jutted out like throbbing worms. His usually clear sapphire irises were furiously inky. They almost became lost in the now obvious bruises around his eyes. Satine wondered if he had slept at all since their last meeting, but it was difficult to conjure compassion when it seemed he was ready to start breathing fire.

With an odd sense of dread, she waited for his explosion. It came quickly.

"What. Were. You. Thinking?" he hissed between scornful lips, squeezing her elbow.

But Satine was dumbstruck.

"I…ah…" she trailed pathetically, all words forgotten.

His blazing eyes searched hers.

"We're leaving," he snapped.

Tightening his hold, he began to marching again.

"W-wait!" she stuttered, still dazed by his sudden hostility. "Wait, Obi-wan! Stop!"

With considerable effort, she wrenched her arm out of his grip and stepped backwards. He pivoted around with dangerous grace while Satine crossed her arms protectively.

"Why are you acting like this?" she asked gently, finding her voice. "Why are you so angry?"

Strangely enough, he laughed. It sounded more like a hacking cough. For a second, he closed his eyes as if trying to stop himself from doing something rash. His hand fell to his side and became a quivering fist.

"What do you think I thought this morning when I went up to your room and found that you had gone? Hm?"

"But I didn't—"

"Then, I discover from some droid that you had, in fact, just decided to go gallivanting around the Senate! Then, I find you…" he took a hulking breath, his eyes glazing over with rage. "…with...those...things..." his face twisted in disgust. "They could have killed you! What were you thinking? Why, of all the places to go, did you come down here?! Do you have a death wish?"

"Obi-wan. Listen. I'm fin—"

"No, you're not!" he exclaimed and pointed at her shoulder, sneering.

Bewildered, Satine examined herself. There was a rip in her sleeve. A splotch of red seeped from it.

"Oh," she whispered, poking it gently.

Pain flowered from the spot.

Scoffing, Obi put a hand into a pocket and retrieved a handkerchief. Motioning for her to hold out her arm, he tied the piece of mangled cloth around the wound. She immediately complied and a flicker of veiled exasperation crossed his features as he held her steady.

For a moment, they said nothing as he worked. He still appeared as if he was waist-high in garbage and guts; his countenance was a hodgepodge of sickened fury. He radiated danger, murder. His fingers fumbled, his concentration broken, yet Satine knew better than to prod him now. It would have been akin to poking a raging Rancor in the eye.

"What if I hadn't been here?" he suddenly wondered in a tight voice. "You could be…They could…"

His words hung in the air. Satine watched Obi-wan tie and then re-tie the knot on her makeshift bandage. His fingers shook now.

"But they didn't," she whispered.

His eyes flicked up warningly—a flash of blue lightning.

"They could have, would have."

Groaning in frustration, he loosed the bandage and started over. Satine put a steadying hand on his and squeezed it.

"Obi, it's OK," she soothed.

"No it's not," he snapped, determined to stay angry. "There are rules now, Satine. You can't just take off whenever you want. I won't always be there to look out for you."

She slipped her hand away from his and he continued trying to wrap her arm.

"What do you mean?" she pondered, unsettled by his premonition.

He had always been there, even when he was lightyears away. Satine had always known he would be there for her if she asked. It had been an unspoken, yet unbreakable pact between them. It was why they were both alive today.

Obi-wan's jawbone churned as he mulled over what to say. In the silence, he managed to tie the bandage, but he didn't move his hand. It rested protectively on her arm, applying pressure.

"The war…" he finally said in a sigh.

Satine's heart dropped.

"Oh, I see."

"It's not what you think," he clarified hastily, brow furrowed.

"Then what?" Satine prodded.

His eyes jerked up to her face again. There was a mysterious unwillingness in them.

"Do you think the war is going to last longer than expected?" she tried again.

Obi-wan exhaled heavily.

"Perhaps," he answered vaguely. "It's already gone on too long for my tastes. But that's not the problem. It's why the war started in the first place. There are many questions, many mysteries left to decipher. They will take time to solve, even after the fighting has stopped. The Force…"

He paused and studied Satine for a moment, wondering how much to divulge.

"Yes?" she encouraged.

"It's Maul. What he did…" Obi began, and the more the words tumbled out, the harder it became for him to control himself. "It broke ancient laws. No force-wielder that I know of has ever been able to do what he did…with…you."

He almost choked on the last few words. They felt bitter and vile as they spewed from his mouth. The nauseated look returned in full force back to his face.

"You mean reading my mind?" she questioned tentatively. "But…but surely it's not as rare as you say! Jedi sense things, don't they? Perform…mind tricks? I've seen you do it!"

Obi-wan's hand tightened on her. Her shoulder barked in protest.

"It's different," he tried to explain. "To influence or sense the thoughts of someone is…unstable at best. The mind is unpredictable and constantly shifting in and out of focus. There's only a small window of opportunity, and it depends greatly on the will of the person..."

"So you're saying I'm weak?" Satine quipped, brow raised.

"No, no! Of course not!" Obi-wan placated hurriedly. "I couldn't read your thoughts even if I wanted to! You are not a weak-willed person, Satine. That's why I can't figure out how Maul…"

He could barely stand to say it.

"Got in?" Satine suggested helpfully, to which Obi-wan nodded, albeit with a grim face.

"But what does that have to do with the Force?" she continued.

Obi-wan sighed once more, giving in.

"Maul's actions have thrown things further out of balance. The war was the first blow and now the Sith have worsened it. The darkness is growing stronger."

Obi-wan swallowed thickly and the two of them stared at each other significantly. The future, which had never seemed so bad, now appeared bleak and foreboding. Listening to Obi-wan prediction, Satine could almost feel the fabric of the world begin to loosen and tear.

"That is why it is so important that you stay under the radar and safe," he continued, his eyes hardened and resolute. "For better or worse, you are connected to this, but my future is more...uncertain."

The thought of more days spent alone and in the dark was abhorrent to her, but a new fear for Obi-wan was prickling like a swarm of angry hornets in her chest. She would do anything to keep him safe. Even if that meant staying shut up in a tower all day.

Nevertheless, Satine couldn't help but feel a bit paranoid, as if around every corner lay another horrible threat.

"Obi-wan?" she asked nervously. "You don't think he…that he's…" her voice trailed off significantly.

Immediately, the Jedi understood.

"In your mind right now?" he finished for her, softening. "No, I don't think so. When I…when he…left…he was weak. He wouldn't—shouldn't be able to access your thoughts from whatever hole he's hiding in now, if he is alive."

A bit of color came back to her cheeks.

"I hope he's dead."

The words rushed out before she could stop them, and even Obi-wan winced in surprise.

All her life she had been a pacifist, but she couldn't extend the same compassion for Maul. Every time she thought about him, her flesh crawled and her blood froze. She still bore the scars of his malice, still couldn't sleep through the night.

It was anathema to her that he still breathed while her sister and people lay dead in unmarked graves under a pile of ruin that had been Mandalore. Now it appeared that Maul had affected far more than Satine had originally thought, which was saying something.

Obi-wan's hand fell from her arm. Instantly, she missed its presence.

"We best get out of here," he announced tiredly. "They'll be expecting us soon."

Satine's pulse jump-started.

"Who?"

"The Council," Obi-wan explained, a grimace pulling at his lips. "They're ready to speak with you again."