The trip from Naboo to Dantooine was, by the route they were taking, five or six days. On the second day, Padmé contacted her.

She. . . frowned, when she received the comm. Her mother had been. . . perfectly cordial, so far, and she'd hugged her tightly and said exactly what Leia had needed to hear the times Leia had seen her, but leading a Rebellion was busy work. She. . . hadn't really had time to talk to her regularly, or in depth, yet; it was always Ahsoka she dealt with, Ahsoka who woke her whenever her nightmares and her screams woke half the base, who explained to her what tasks needed to be done and where to go.

She wasn't sure if it was because Ahsoka was Force-sensitive where Padmé was not, or something else.

The projection winked into existence. Padmé's head and shoulders were all it showed, but they were enough. Leia picked the handheld device up from her bed and uncrossed her legs, leaving the half-finished plait she'd been working on draped over her shoulder.

". . .Mother?" she asked, the word sounding foreign on her tongue. But the way Padmé. . . smiled, suddenly, when she heard it, she supposed, ignoring the warmth in her own chest, made up for it.

"Leia," she greeted.

"What's the occasion?"

She frowned tightly, her shoulders hunching over as they tensed ever so slightly. "Do I need an occasion to check on my daughter? Especially after I heard what happened with A— Vader."

Leia decided not to comment on her slip.

"You haven't struck up many conversations with me before now," she pointed out, curling in on herself as well, slightly. She drew one leg back up onto the bed and bent it, heel to her thigh. "I didn't think—"

"Oh." Her eyes went wide. "Oh, Leia, sweetheart. . ."

She grimaced.

"I. . . was trying to give you space. I was busy and I thought you'd be angry over. . . Tatooine, and I thought I'd wait for you to come to me. I can—"

"It's alright. If I'd just focused on doing what needed to be done, I could've got through it a lot faster—"

"Leia." Her mother's tone brooked no argument. "You are far too much like me." That gave Leia an odd feeling—she wasn't sure if she wanted to take that as a compliment or an insult. "Putting yourself before your duties isn't selfish, it just makes sense—they can't be carried out if there's no self to carry them out. I know you want to retreat into yourself and plot what you're going to do next, but talk to people. Cooperate with people. It'll be much, much better for you all around."

Leia swallowed. "I guess. . ."

Padmé smiled at her again.

". . .I'll keep it in mind," she concluded, a lump in her throat. "If you want."

"I do." There was a chiming noise behind her; Padmé turned to look at something the holo didn't pick up, then grimaced. "Now, not to ruin the moment, but I wanted to check up on you. . . and also to tell you, there's someone contacting me now who wants to speak to you."

Leia frowned. "Who—"

Padmé's image vanished and was replaced.

Leia recognised him instantly.

Dark skin more scarred that not, greying dark hair, and a life support suit extending up to his neck that attested to exactly how many injuries he'd received in his two decades of war and terror. (It reminded her of her father more than she cared to admit.)

"Saw Gerrera," she greeted.

"Leia Skywalker," he replied. His voice rasped. "Your father was quite the celebrity in his day."

"He still is," she shot back, "for all the wrong reasons."

"Heh. Your mother, too."

Leia glanced to the left, where Padmé's image had slid off to. She didn't know how to take that.

"What do you want?"

His head moved back, away from the comlink on his end. "Jyn just put in quite the favourable word for you. I hear you want help rescuing your brother."

"And you're offering it?"

"Depends. I don't know if I can trust you or not."

"You shouldn't," she said baldly. Her anger slipped into her voice, but it was more like a bitterness—at the galaxy, at her family, but most of all at herself. "I'm a recent Imperial defector, after all, seeking to rescue another recent Imperial defector. You'd be a fool to trust me."

"Especially after what you and your brother did at Kuat."

That bitterness roared up into a flame—but not at herself. Because she'd found it far too easy to push aside, to forget, earlier, but. . .

They were trying to ally with Saw Gerrera.

The person who didn't flinch at killing civilians just to strike at a government he hated, in the name of what was good and righteous. In the name of justice.

And she knew, logically, that Luke would be disappointed in her for thinking what she was thinking right now.

But the flame inside her burned, and the dark side nipped at her heels, and she was her father's daughter.

If needs must.

The Empire had stolen her brother. It had stolen everything.

"I won't apologise for being effective," she said. "Only for stopping you, instead of helping burn those Imperial resources to the ground."

She thought she heard a quiet gasp in the background at the murder in her voice, but her eyes were fixed on Gerrera.

He laughed. "'Effective.' You aren't one for false modesty."

"I just know what I'm good at."

He sucked in a sharp breath.

Stiffened.

He was staring, she realised after a moment, before he shook himself.

"Heh. That you do." There was a tight edge to his voice. "You say you want to rescue your brother?"

"I will rescue my brother."

A pregnant pause.

"I know what it's like," he said finally, "to lose a sibling to tyranny."

Her eyebrows shot up. Of all things, she had not been expecting. . . this.

Vulnerability.

"I will assign some resources to help you, Skywalker," he promised. "Just promise me one thing."

She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"Turn that effectiveness on the Empire," he said. "Make them burn."

She smirked.

Nothing would delight her more.

"Come on, Skywalker," Horada grunted, his arm slung around her shoulders as they staggered onwards. "Just a little bit further."

He shook his head. They paused for breath and he unwittingly leaned on her a little more than before; she stumbled, and they both teetered for a moment to avoid the fall.

"Are you ready to go again, Skywalker?"

"Feel free to call me Luke," he panted, but nodded.

She took his weight again and they limped forward, trying desperately not to put too much weight on his broken ankle. She scoffed.

"I've called you boy for several months to avoid using your first name. Now you finally deign to have a last name, you are not going to take this from me."

He laughed, despite himself. "Fair enough."

"Just a little further, Skywalker," she coaxed again, voice softening. He shuddered, suddenly hyperaware of the blood soaking him—wounds he'd reopened—and the pain that permeated every cell like a klaxon blare, his trembling muscles, his pounding head—

"Just," she grunted, "a little. . . further. . ."

Then there was a door on the left and Horada was ushering him towards it.

"There," she whispered. "Here we are."

He staggered in.

The first thing he noticed was that it was. . . clean. There were small lamps and lights scattered around the room, windows—windows!—with the shutters drawn down, and. . .

He nearly cried when he saw them.

Beds.

"This was the old infirmary, I believe," Horada murmured. "Of the Jedi Temple, that is. My father was a worker in the Temple, he used to be responsible for cleaning here, he said the spirits of the Jedi healers would never forgive him if he let it fall to ruin. . ."

She helped him stagger to one of the beds and he collapsed onto it, once again nearly crying at the feeling of something. . . soft. . . underneath him.

Of something soft at all.

"How. . .?"

She smiled a little to herself, brushed some of the outside dust from her robes, and strode over to one of the cabinets—a dark, reddish wood. Even that seemed polished and well maintained.

"You and your sister aren't the only ones who've been sneaking down here the past few years, Skywalker," she said, almost amiably. "The amount of times I had to hide in the most ignoble positions lest some curious ten year old betray me. . . Let's say I was a little bitter when I found out I had to entertain you as a library volunteer."

"You weren't great at hiding it," he admitted, lying back on the bed. "I figured it was something to do with—"

"Don't! Don't lie back. Let's get you out of those filthy clothes, first. Wash off, apply bacta, and then you can sleep." She turned, rising back to her feet and striding back over with her hands full of the same sort of supplies Mara had had. "Though Force knows you must need it."

Luke nodded, and groaned as he bent over to tug at his boots.

"Don't!" She was in his face in a moment, batting his hands away. "Those boots look pretty stiff, though Force knows how long you've been wearing them"—since his capture, along with the rest of his clothes, thought considering her own clothes were smeared with his blood and dirt and sweat, he didn't think she'd want to hear any of that—"so it might be best to leave them on for now."

She dumped most of the supplies on the table beside him. "Take off your shirt, we need to clean you off and see to some of those injuries." She winced when he complied, and she saw them. "Ouch."

"Yeah, I can't say they feel that great either."

She swatted his shoulder. "Quiet, boy. I'm trying to concentrate." She swiped the damp cloth to and fro over his shoulder, gently.

He hissed with every stroke.

"Oh, for stars' sake. . ." She muttered. "You know, my family's from Alderaan."

He blinked in surprise, but was grateful for the distraction. He desperately needed it. "Really?"

"Yes. My father was from Alderaan, then moved to Coruscant when he was in his early twenties. Fell in love with the place—the skyscrapers, the opportunities—"

"The Jedi?"

"Yes," she conceded. She sounded oddly pensive. "And the Jedi. He never left. He met my mother, and had me. He stayed working on this temple until he died ten years ago; I've been looking after it since."

That. . . felt mournful. Felt like a far too personal subject as well, so Luke asked, "Did he ever take you to see Alderaan?"

She snorted. "No. He never liked Alderaan anyway—too peaceful. He needed to be somewhere he could get caught up in the rush of it all. But I've been there." She switched out the damp cloth for the disinfectant. "My daughter moved there for university when she was eighteen and never left. She met her best friends there, met her wife there, got their pet tooka. . . They even had a child recently. A beautiful little girl, with my daughter's eyes and my daughter-in-law's nose."

"What's her name?"

"Clara. I'm told she's a little menace, screams all night. She must get it from her mother."

Luke laughed—then hissed as she slapped a bacta patch on him, then laughed again.

"I'll probably go and join them, once we get out of here," she mused. She frowned at the larger wounds, but there wasn't much she could do beyond clean them and apply bacta, so she just grimaced extra vehemently and got to it.

"You're not going back to the Archives?"

"After this?" She snorted. "No. Palpatine will know I'm a traitor. But I'm alright with that. My father's labour of love," she gestured around the room, "has saved one more patient. I'm sure the spirits of the Jedi healers will be satisfied."

Luke swallowed.

"I'm sorry to be uprooting you from your life."

Her hands stilled.

She glanced at his face briefly, as if to work out if he was joking or not, and started when she realised he was in earnest. She continued to clean and dress the wounds.

"You're a kid, Luke," she said firmly. "It's not my life that's been uprooted the most. I'm sorry I couldn't get you out of that horrible environment sooner."

He bent his head so she didn't see the tears in his eyes.

She finished her treatment, then wandered back over to another cupboard. This time, she drew out large swathes of fabric.

They almost looked like—

"Jedi robes," she said shortly, tossing them over him. "They'll be too big, and inconvenient, and not ideal, but at least they're cleaner than. . . those." She wrinkled her nose at his tattered clothes, caked in blood and dust.

He clutched them tightly. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you so much."

She paused. . . then smiled at him.

"You're welcome," she said. "Now get some rest."

"So, Leia," Padmé said carefully, the moment Gerrera vanished and she was back on the channel. "What do you think of him?"

"Of Gerrera?"

"Yes."

Leia narrowed her eyes. "He could be useful," she said. If Padmé wanted to be vague and. . . diplomatic, two could play at that game. "He has many resources, and unity would only help the greater Rebellion—could only help Luke," she said pointedly. "Isn't that what you're after?" Why you made me talk to him? she added in her head.

Padmé pursed her lips. "You know there was a reason we split from him to begin with."

"Yes. And desperate times call for desperate measures, do they not? You're all Rebels."

"Considering that you used to follow the Empire's habit of using Saw's activities to tar the Rebellion as a whole," Padmé countered, "I would think you would understand my reluctance here."

She crossed her arms. "What are you saying? That I shouldn't accept his help, on a few moral qualms? Luke is—"

"I know, Leia." Padmé sounded tired. "And I hate it, and I empathise with the need to do anything to change it. But the ends do not justify the means. That's your father's way of thinking."

She clenched her fists. "Don't you dare compare me to him—"

"I will compare you to him. You are similar; that is not necessarily a bad thing, but Anakin was always more. . . quick to abandon ideals," she said carefully, "in the face of a loved one's pain."

"I think you'll find that torching everything Palpatine stands for is perfectly in line with my morals, thank you very much—"

"I heard your conversation with Saw," she interrupted. "You shouldn't take such pleasure in destruction, Leia. It's a vicious circle."

"It's what they deserve."

"It's terrorism."

"I used to call your activities that," she snapped. "I suppose it's all the Jedi 'certain point of view' nonsense?"

"In a way." Padmé sounded very tired. "But I know you still practice the dark side—and before you interrupt, I know that I am not Force-sensitive, and therefore am not an expert on this. But Ahsoka tells me, Kanan tells me, that they are worried about you. The dark side will eat you alive."

"It will give me the strength to save Luke!"

"But at what cost?" Padmé insisted. "Once you've wallowed in darkness, once you've burned the galaxy to ashes to rescue him, you will have to find out if that was really what Luke wanted—"

"Don't you dare!" Her anger was a living being in her chest; the temperature dropped sharply; she sensed the Jedi a few rooms away shift uncomfortably. "Don't you dare assume anything about Luke!"

"Leia—"

"You weren't there!" she shouted. "You left, you abandoned us! You do not get to tell me what to do about my brother, you do not get to compare me to my father, and you do not get to act like— like—"

"Like your mother?" Padmé asked quietly.

Leia nodded, realising there were hot tears on her face. "Yes."

Padmé looked hurt. Leia didn't care.

"Alright," her mother said. "We will accept Saw's help if we need it, but just. . . promise me you'll think about it?"

Leia grunted.

"Alright. But we might not even need it. That was the good news I meant to mention earlier."

Despite the fury that still ebbed and swelled, Leia leaned forward. Hope was the sweetest emotion she'd felt all day.

"Ahsoka told you I had a spy," Padmé said. "Well, she's got Luke. If all goes well. . .

"He'll be on his way to Dantooine in a few hours."

He slept like he'd been hit by a stun bolt the moment his head hit the pillow, and when he woke up, he felt less like death itself.

The old infirmary was empty save for him, so he took the chance to look around. The high ceiling arched above him and Luke found himself smiling at some of the murals that embellished the curves, of Jedi younglings of all species and age, crudely drawn lightsabers, messages and blessings of peace in nearly every written language he knew of. . .

He closed his eyes and stretched out with his feelings.

The Force hummed here, rather than muttered; it was significantly lighter than the rest of the Temple, corrupted and rotting in misery as it had been. It calmed him, somewhat—he instinctually let go of anger, fear, hate, and it made some knot in his chest loosen and his surroundings warm. He stretched out further—

To sense another presence scouring the area like a dark searchlight.

He shot up his shields immediately.

"Good morning," Horada greeted, striding into the room. "Rise and shine."

Luke frowned—he realised that, underground as he had been, he had no idea of the time. "Morning?"

"It's eleven. You escaped at around one in the morning last night."

He took in a breath. She brandished a fresh set of Jedi robes at him and he took them automatically. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Now, Amidala has arranged for there to be a ship waiting for us just on the outskirts of Imperial City, if we can get to it before noon. I'm not expected to show up for my shift in the Archives until two, so my absence will go unnoticed until it's too late. But time is of the essence. Do you feel ready to go?"

As if there was any chance he was going to stay, even if he felt like he'd run through all the hells barefoot. "Yes." He pulled himself to his feet and bit back a cry when he put weight on his right foot again.

Right.

He'd forgotten about that.

"Easy, there," Horada caught him before he toppled again, and Luke grimaced as he was lowered back onto the bed. His ankle looked to have swollen to the size of a meiloorun. "Don't take things too rough. I hid a speeder just where the corridor leading out from here meets the airways; we can get out of Imperial City reasonably quickly."

"If we can get to the speeder," Luke murmured.

". . .yes," Horada conceded, "if we can get to the speeder. But it will be fine." Her tone was firm, but in an. . . unconvincing. . . way. "We'll be fine. Now come on, Skywalker." She offered him her arm. "Let's move out."

He tried to smile, but took her arm and hauled himself upright.

And, like that, they limped out of the infirmary.

"You're sure you know the way?" he murmured. All the poorly-lit (or completely dark) corridors looked the same, especially in only the light of Horada's glowrod. There were still scorch marks on the walls from the Purges twenty years earlier; he'd spent most of his childhood here, but it was. . . unnerving.

It didn't help that the scent of charred flesh still lingered, either.

"I'm certain, Skywalker," she said—a bit snappishly, he thought, but it wasn't like she was the only one on edge. "I've been traversing these corridors for decades, I know—"

"Someone's coming."

Her face was paler than a ghost's in this light. "What?"

A sound skittered down the corridor towards them.

Ice began to crystallise on the air.

"Inquisitors," he whispered.

A shudder of warning was all he got. He moved, shoving down the spike of pain from his ankle and trying not to let it bleed into the Force, and grabbed Horada, stifling her small cry. He yanked them both into a side door and had barely shut off her glowrod or pulled the door to before the footsteps came.

They crawled down the corridor at an agonising pace. They were accompanied by the reverberations of sabers.

"I heard something," rasped a voice.

"It was your imagination," came another, both slightly off in tone—Inquisitors, then, speaking through their helmets.

"If the brat came down here, there'd be a trail of blood, like there was in the air vents."

"Unless there was someone who helped him," countered the other. "If Vader's spawn can be traitors, anyone can. If someone got him medical supplies—"

"If someone got him medical supplies, then their fate will make his look merciful," spat a third voice. Luke stiffened, eyes going wide.

Mara.

"Oh, don't be so crude," said the second voice. "I'm sure Master will have a. . . chat with them, that's all."

The laughter was the cruellest, most excruciating thing he'd ever listened to. He glanced down when he realised he was squeezing Horada tightly; she was holding him just as close.

Her eyes were scrunched shut and she stank of terror.

"Whoever they are, they're close," said the first voice. They seemed to revel in it. "I can feel their fear."

Horada whimpered.

"What was that?"

Tears tracked down her cheeks; they dampened Luke's shoulder and stung some of the old wounds that had opened in his panic. He squeezed her tighter. Wrapped shields around them both.

We are not here, he said—begged. We do not exist. We are a wall; a stone; a whisper on the breeze.

"As the Eighth Sister said," Mara said coldly. "It was your imagination. This place feels strange in the Force, you know that. If you want to actually succeed for once, Eleventh Brother, perhaps you should stop jumping at shadows." Her tone turned mocking. "Or ghosts."

Luke shut his eyes.

That was it.

We are living on a planet of ghosts.

Ghosts.

"You do not give me orders, Sixth Sister—"

"Ben?"

"Emperor's Hand—" Mara corrected pointedly.

"Ben," Luke muttered. "Ben, hear me—"

The Eighth Sister said, "I thought I did hear something there—"

"Ben. . ."

"—and I believe I do give you orders, Eleven. Unless you are so incompetent that you have already forgotten what our master said?"

"It's not me who forgets orders," the Eleventh Brother growled. "Or my place."

Mara said, "Then act like it."

And then there were footsteps.

Not even footsteps—a loud clattering, debris scattering across the floor, and vibrations that might have been distant cursing.

Luke clenched his eyes shut.

"What was that?"

"Was that them?"

Mara paused.

"The others are searching the south wing of this stars-forsaken temple," she said. "That must be them. Split up, pen them in."

No reply.

"Are we clear?"

Low murmuring, then—

"Are. We. Clear?"

A sigh that somehow sounded more like a growl. "Yes, Hand."

"Then get out of my sight."

The footsteps dispersed.

Luke whispered, "Thank you, Ben."

He slowly, ever so slowly, detached himself from Horada's arm. She was shaking, enough that he was the one supporting her for the first few steps down the corridor, before she regained her wits. He didn't comment on it.

He was, in fact, unbelievably impressed by how brave she was being.

"Let's go," he said. Neither of them commented on the fact that he hadn't stopped trembling.

He stayed painfully alert the whole way there. Thankfully, if all the other Inquisitors were in the south wing as Mara had said, they might be able to make it to the west. . . but that had been too close. Ben could lead them on a wild galaar chase all he wanted, but he could only manifest for so long; at one point they'd be coming.

"What time is it?" he murmured. Horada glanced at the chrono on her wrist.

"Eleven forty," she whispered back.

Twenty minutes.

"How long 'til the speeder?"

She ran the calculations. "Should be five. No more."

He didn't miss the should be.

He let out a breath. "Let's go, then."

The next five minutes lasted an eternity.

Pausing and wishing he never had to breathe again. . . creeping forward, cringing at every audible footfall, every twitch of stone, every hitch of breath. . . But they made it.

Well.

They nearly made it.

They could see the light. At the end of the corridor. It was going to open out onto a disused landing platform, with a speeder piled under a bunch of rusting metal slates and poles, and then they were going to clear them all off, to hell with the noise, and shoot off into the busy midday traffic before the Inquisitors could converge on them like a swarm of furious klikniks—

Luke stretched out, very briefly, one last time to check that all the Inquisitors were far away enough for that to be possible—

—and one of them sensed him.

The message was spread instantaneously; one heartbeat later and there were a dozen death-cold stares zeroing in on his location; one heartbeat more and a much colder, much more intense stare was fixed on him, from higher up—

His breath froze in his throat.

"Go," he said. They hobbled forwards as fast as possible. "Go, go, go—"

There was an almighty lurch as the dark side flooded the area from a distance. Palpatine fed his anger through the air, through the walls; Luke instinctively shielded against it. But when Palpatine squeezed and there was a crack, the walls shuddered and began to collapse around them, and he lit up like an Empire Day firework to toss a particularly large chunk of rock away from Horada's head—

And the corridor collapsed in front of them.

Half-collapsed. It was still passable, he saw with pure, unfiltered relief, but difficult, and—

And they had to go one at a time.

He gave Horada a push. "Go. Go, I'll be right behind you."

He'd been here before.

He knew that. He could practically hear Leia's screams on the wind again, mingling with the groan and crunch of more and more rocks raining down. He caught them before they could touch her—dark presences latched onto his hungrily, but he shook it off—and shouted again, "Go!"

"You have to follow!" she shot back.

But there was no changing it now. She was clear of the blockage, but Luke staggered forward—

And a massive slab of rock smacked him in the side.

He went down hard, vision blooming red, blood filling his mouth. There was a crack—several, in fact. In his ribs, in his leg—

His leg—

He couldn't help it: he screamed.

It echoed.

He summoned every inch of the Force he could get his hands on and tossed the rock off, but when he looked up he knew it was too late.

Great chunks of the ceiling had piled in the corridor, blocking it from wall to wall. He eyed the gap at the top, wondering if he could climb, it—

Then he shifted, and the agony in his leg nearly made him black out.

He staggered to his feet anyway, ignoring how it screamed, and did his best to hop over to the blockage. His heart was beating like a caged bird its wings, the ringing in his ears was trilling just as loudly; he could hear the Inquisitors' shouts and sabers and sprinting as they neared.

The sound of the lightsabers broke him out of it.

"No," he said to himself, seizing a rock and hurling it aside. He could hear Horada scrabbling on the other side; he tried again, carving deep grazes in his palms, before he sagged against the rock and sobbed, "No. . ."

A grinding shift, then light bled through a hole—a tiny hole, the size of his fist. One of Horada's ice-pale eyes appeared in it.

"Don't give up, Skywalker," she said, "we can still—"

"No," he said, and shook with the despair of it all. "We can't."

Tears freely wet his cheeks and he didn't care who saw anymore. He beat one fist against the rock; the other was stuffed into his mouth to stifle his scream.

"Yes we can, don't give up—"

"You have to go."

She wasted precious time staring at him.

"No," she finally got out. "No, Luke—"

"You have to go," he begged. "Go. Get out, before the Inquisitors catch you. Go to Alderaan, see your daughter, make sure you meet Clara, make sure—" He sobbed.

He tried to reach for that elusive, peaceful light he'd found in the infirmary, but it evaded his touch. There was no light here.

The shadows were coming for him, and they did not want to play.

He shook his head. "Make sure she knows her grandmother," he said, "because Force knows I wish I had."

"Luke—"

"And tell my sister. . ." He wept more, heavier, harder at the thought of Leia, strong, terrifying Leia, who'd scream and rage and break— "Tell her. . ."

He swallowed. Shook his head. "'Likewise,'" he whispered hoarsely.

Horada didn't question it. "I will," she promised. "Luke. . ."

"Go. Go to Alderaan. Maybe I'll come meet you there when I get out," he said humourlessly.

"I. . ." She was glancing behind her now—at the freedom that had been so close.

So, so close.

"Thank you for everything," he whispered, then sagged back down to the floor.

He heard her hesitate, then bolt when the footsteps continued to grow closer. He heard the clatter of metal as she pulled the speeder from its hiding place and fled.

Only once the roar of the engines had faded did he allow himself to scream.

And he screamed.

Long. Loud. Every blasted ounce of desperation and terror and foolish, foolish hope ejected from his throat. He pounded his fist against the rock until that cracked too; blood ran freely. Everything was red and black and pain.

He was half-unconscious with the heady mix of it all when they got to him.

When Leia landed on Dantooine to the sight of an unfamiliar ship but without the explosive sense of her brother in the Force, she knew something was wrong.

Hope turned to ash in her mouth.

Everyone noticed that something was wrong with her when she started fidgeting, standing, pacing, as they landed, but only Kanan cast her a glance. When the ramp was down, she was down it before she'd even finished the thought—before it had even finished lowering.

Padmé, Ahsoka, and a third familiar face were waiting for her on the landing pad.

She skidded to a halt in front of them.

"Horada," she greeted, a little stiffly. Her eyes swept the buildings behind them, in case the Force could be lying, in case her brother was hiding and waiting to jump out on her, and her heart beat in her throat—

"Skywalker," Horada replied, gentler than Leia had ever heard her, but. . . pained.

So, so pained.

"Where—" Her voice broke. She was loosely aware of the others, finally disembarked, hovering awkwardly behind her. She ignored them. "Where's my brother?"

No one replied.

Then Horada said, "He told me to tell you. . ." She hesitated. "'Likewise.'"

The word dropped like a stone in her gut. Likewise.

It dropped like a stone into a glass, and all the displaced water flooded out of her in tears. Likewise.

I'm on your side. I don't care which side that is.

She pressed her hand to her mouth. Likewise.

She closed her eyes. Reached out to him, desperately, in an almost instinctual move, and saw—

—a cell, darker than the standard Imperial white, and a wrinkled face contorted in fury above her, a gnarled finger under her chin.

"I heard you've been on quite the adventure, Luke," Palpatine said, gaze tracing the bloody Jedi robes, the bloody leg, so much blood— "And it doesn't seem to have done you any good."

She swallowed. Everything hurt.

"And yet, I'm not sure that was sufficient for you to have learnt your lesson, was it, my boy?"

She didn't reply.

"Was it?"

She still didn't reply. Palpatine sighed.

"Then I'm afraid I'll have to teach you personally"—he raised his hands—"to never worry me like that again."

Lightning barrelled towards her—

And Leia was tossed out by raw agony, a whimper ravaging her throat. She opened her eyes to painful sunlight.

"He made you go first," she said to Horada, "didn't he?"

Guilt and fear and regret crashed together. Leia wasn't sure if it was hers or Horada's or Ahsoka's or Padmé's or of the Force itself; it was infinite, unending, unyielding—

And Horada said, "Yes." She swallowed tightly. "He did."

Leia didn't even react. She didn't know how she could react.

Padmé asked Horada gently, "Was there anything else?"

Horada nodded, her voice thick. "I. . . received a message, just before I entered hyperspace. It said—"

She took a deep. "Tell Amidala. . ."

She swallowed.

"Emperor Palpatine sends his regards."