Janitor
He stops short in the hall, looking down the corridor to his left. He feels her. The Force is rippling.
Amid the stormtroopers and officers, her pale face emerges, a moon eclipsed. Obsidian walls devour her standard issue jumpsuit, a drab, charcoal thing pocked with age and peppered with bleach.
Of course, he thinks. Who but her traitor companion would suggest she disguise herself in a role solely designated to droids since last year?
He is locked on her and sees her sense it. How gracious it is to be looked at for the first time again.
"Hi, I'm Matt."