Revan plops down on the nearest chair and brings both hands to her forehead. This is bad. Very, very bad, and not just because of the gossip or the way the Temple might react.

"They're going to blow your cover if they prod any further" Malak says, and yes, she knows that, in fact, she can already see the headlines from here: 'Sith Lords on the Loose!', 'Jedi Council Strikes Corrupt Bargain', 'Sith Mastermind Poses as Jedi Hero', 'Sith Order Infiltrates Coruscant!'.

Revan inhales deeply. She'd been aware of the risk before – not that she hadn't hoped to delay it as long as she could – but it had felt like a secondary concern, a distant threat at best, like a rustle in the shadowlands, or a hazy shape in the depths of Manaan: lurking, but not quite there yet. Manageable. Escapable. Perhaps if she makes herself small, if she doesn't do anything rash… oh, who is she kidding.

"It was only a matter of time," she says, her voice so flat and resigned one could mistake it for that of a protocol droid that's running low on batteries.

She knows Malak agrees. He told her as much before. Even the combined power of the Jedi Council couldn't keep your true identity buried forever, could it? And well, it's not out there yet, but it will be, and when that happens…

"We have to leave Coruscant."

Malak nods.

"Agreed."

Because she can't stop the Sith if she can't move around freely, and while Malak's presence already has already compromised that to an extent, it will only get worse when they figure out who she is. Actually, it'll get worse for the order as a whole, and with the public's trust as eroded as it already is… they'll have little choice but to weather the storm. The sense of panic settles in. Jedi don't panic. They just don't.

"We have to tell the others. I'll call the Temple right away."

Master Vandar picks up her call. Although the old master shows no signs of irritation, the tips of his ears are drooping defeatedly in a way that vaguely reminds her of an exhausted fathier.

"Is it a bad time, Master Vandar? I'll call back in a few hours if you'd rather…"

"No, no, it's not a bad time, Jyn, but the Temple has received news of a… concerning matter."

Well, in that case… now may not be a good time to mention the Coruscant Herald's article. Unless that's precisely what he's talking about.

"I'm a little busy with our new recruits at the moment, but Master Vrook is already on his way. He'll tell you everything we know."

Great. Just great.

"Of course. I'll leave you to it."

The hologram fades, and Revan turns to look at Malak.

"Did you hear that?"

"Yep. We're in for a good dressing down. That's not exactly unexpected."

Mission – who's followed them into the main hold – looks at Revan and says:

"Vrook is… the cranky one, yeah? The one with the red robes?"

"Yup."

"Uh. Good luck with that one. Did you know that he told me off just because I went to explore the lower levels while you were out in the ruins with Bastila? I wasn't doing anything, really, just walking around and looking at shiny cubes. I didn't even touch them, I swear, just... Anyway. You need someone to vent to, you know where to find me."

Revan smiles.

"Thanks, Mission. I'll try not to, but thanks."

"Now, do you think we have time for cake before he gets here?"

The words are barely out of the kid's mouth when the old man's footsteps echo down the starboard hallway.

Malak sighs.

"I'd say this answers your question."

"Oh. That's alright. I just… You guys don't need me here for this, right?"

Vrook halts in the doorway.

"Indeed, they do not."

Revan exhales.

"Don't worry, Mission. We'll handle this."

Right. 'Handle'.

Revan forces a smile as Mission nods and walks out. There is a moment of silence, and Revan senses more than she sees Malak shifting his weight forward and back, his hands clasped tight behind his back.

"I assume you have… pressing matters to discuss, Master?" she finally manages.

The old man crosses his arms.

"Indeed. We've received a distress call from a mining outpost on Nevarro. From what little we could gather, a group of mercenaries has been harassing colonists for a couple of weeks, now. Master Hiraali and his Padawan have gone to investigate, but we've received no transmission since their arrival nearly a week ago. We've tried to contact the outpost, but our attempts have repeatedly failed. We would like you to find out what happened to them – and the outpost."

A week? A week is an awfully long time.

Malak snorts.

"I see that the Council's response is as swift and efficient as ever."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I was merely reiterating the opinion I expressed when we last… 'debated', fringe-system policy, Master."

"Then I will reiterate the exact same piece of advice I gave you then: hold your tongue, young Squinquargesimus."

Malak visibly stiffens, and Revan bites her lip. She doesn't know if it's the name, or the fact that Vrook can't ignore the irony of his own injunction, but the old man's answer is nothing short of a verbal slap.

"Sorry, medical exemption." Malak gestures towards his face, and there's a hint of spite in his words, but he doesn't expand on the subject. "Now about Nevarro… do we know anything about the mercenaries?"

"We know they're Mandalorian."

So, that narrows it down to about two-hundred-million potential suspects. Swell.

"That's not much to go on."

That's an understatement.

"With all due respect, master, you must know more than that. What about their numbers? Targets? Equipment? Date of arrival?"

"No, none of that. You're walking in blind."

Revan bites her tongue.

"I see."

Or, not really, in that case.

"Do you think the Sith could be connected to the case?"

"We have no evidence of that, no, but that's a lead we cannot exclude yet. Whatever happens, tread with caution."

"That's it?", Revan asks somewhat incredulously.

"What do you mean that's it?"

"Well, I'd initially assumed you'd come to… nothing."

"I don't need the Coruscant Herald to put words on what I've suspected for the past fifteen years, Jyn."

Revan lets the number sink in. Fifteen years. Damn. Fifteen years and the Council knew.

Fifteen years and they still sent her to kill him.

"It's not what you think."

But it's definitely what she thinks.

Malak shakes his head.

"And it's certainly not fifteen years."

"Malak!"

If that isn't damning, she doesn't know what is.

Revan catches the 'oh crap' look that passes over Malak's face, followed by an apologetic nod.

"… of course, that depends on… what you were thinking of in the first place."

Vrook sighs.

"I no longer know what I think, young ones. Truly, I fear I will never comprehend the two of you."

"So that's really it then? You're not going to… I don't know, launch into a lecture or something? Say something ominous about attachments and the dark side? Because I don't remember what happened, but it's really quite obvious we've both screwed up more than just a little bit in that department, and I have no idea whether it matters or not to begin with but I'd really pegged you down as the kind of guy who would want to bring that up. So… yeah."

She bites her lip again. It's her nerves talking. Jedi don't let their nerves talk. Well, if the stories are true, she never was a very good Jedi to begin with.

"No offense," she adds, and lets the embarrassment settle in.

"Of course, you think I'm going to lecture you. But I've tried. I've tried, and I've failed. I can only hope that personal experience has taught you better than my words could."

The master bows slightly as he takes his leave.

"Safe travels, young ones. And may the Force be with you."

When his footsteps finally die down, Revan looks up at Malak.

"So… do you want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly, no."

"Fair enough."

She heads to the cockpit. It's going to be a long ride.


As expected, the trip is long. Long, and uneventful, save for the occasional side-glance that Carth directs her way and which she pretends not to catch. She takes a look at the map. Only two ours left to Nevarro. If she keeps it up this way, she might avoid having to talk about it altogether.

"Did you read it?" Carth finally asks in what she assumes is meant to be a matter-of-fact way. It's anything but that.

"Did I read what?"

"You know what."

Revan sighs. She wishes she'd had more time. More time to wrap her mind around things. More time to understand, more time to come up with a plan. More time to break it to Carth. As it turns out, she doesn't have more time.

"Yeah. I read it."

"And?"

"And it's a sand-crawler load of bantha poodoo, but I have a feeling that Bariss Lane woman is onto something, and I don't want to be around when she finds out what she's looking for."

Carth cocks an eyebrow.

"So that's it, then? We're just… running away from the press?"

"We're not just running away from the press, we're investigating the mining outpost, too."

Carth looks away.

"Sure."

"But?"

"I don't know, Revan, I… I've got a bad feeling about this."

"You mean about the article or about Nevarro?"

"Both? Look, it's just… ah, it's probably nothing."

It's definitely not nothing.

"Spit it out, Carth."

Carth shifts uneasily, and already, Revan can tell he's not going to give her the full answer.

"Well, I… when was the last time we got a job as easy as dealing with a bunch of mercs? Something's got to be off. Something's gotta go south. It always does."

"Hey, we've earned 'easy'. Sith Lords get old. Metaphorically speaking."

Carth snorts.

"Does that also include the one currently sharing your dorm?"

"Wha… you're not gonna start with that too, are you?"

"I don't know. Doesn't feel like I'm 'starting' anything."

"Look, Carth, I didn't mean to… kriff, it's complicated, alright?"

"Oh, I can't imagine it being easy."

There's a tinge of anger there, and she'd like to claim she doesn't understand, but she does and it doesn't make things any better.

"Listen, Carth, I… I'm sorry. About everything. You and I… look, I know it's tough but…" She breathes in, bracing herself for what comes next. She's been delaying this for a long time – too long, maybe – and somehow, it still feels like a cruel thing to say. Perhaps because it is. "We've been a dead-end from the very beginning. We just didn't know it." Her words hang in the air for a moment. "I think we both need time. I'll leave you alone until landing."

She gets up from her seat.

"Jyn, wait! Remember what you said after we escaped Malak, after I killed Saul? What if you were right back then? What if you really were just Jyn Thule? What if Revan were truly gone?"

Revan inhales sharply. It's hard. She knows it's hard. Caring for a monster, for someone who destroyed your life… she doesn't expect Carth to love her as she is, in fact, she doesn't want him to. But that's who she is – what's left of her, at least – and she won't erase herself. She won't let anyone try to erase her again. Not now, not ever.

"She's not, Carth. I don't think she'll ever be."


Nevarro is about as bleak and inhospitable as she expected. A few dozen houses, nestled at the foot of a sharp, rocky outcropping, barely stand out against the dark, ash covered landscape. Carth spots a flatter area on the outskirts of the settlement, overlooking a slow-running lava stream flowing at the bottom a steep-sided canyon. A couple of loose hosepipes are strewn about near what appears to be a fuel-tank, and the ground bears clear, parallel marks matching the landing skids of several mass-produced freighter models.

"Must be the landing pad," Carth says, and brings the Hawk down.

"Alright, keep the Hawk ready to go. I'm going out with Malak and Canderous, see if anyone's around."

"Copy that. And Revan? Be careful out there."

She nods.

"I will."

A thin cloud of dust lifts off the ground as they lower the access ramp, and the two men follow her outside. They start down the outpost's only street.

"I imagined there would have been… people," she says, noticing the row of closed shutters lining the street.

"It's a frontier outpost," Canderous says. "Not the most exciting kind of town, but it's an easy target for raiders. That's exactly the type of place our scouts would hit to provoke the Republic into a fight."

Malak remains silent, but Revan can feel his discomfort.

In the middle of an otherwise blind wall, a door swings in the wind, a cardboard sign reading 'open' still dangling from the handle. A pair of speeder-bikes are parked in front. She hovers her hand over one of the engines.

"Still hot."

Malak lifts an index finger to where his mouth would be and positions himself next to the door, his back flat on the wall as he unhooks his lightsaber. Canderous does the same on the other side of the door, then cranes his head to look inside.

"Empty."

"There's someone in there, I can tell you that."

"Only one way to know," Revan says as she steps inside and reaches for the light switch. In front of her, two bodies lay face down on the floor beside a knocked down table. One of them has a knife in his hand.

She reaches out through the Force to check for a flicker of life. Nothing.

"Do you think they fought?" Malak asks.

"I don't know. But…" she points at the blaster burn on the other corpse's back, "if they did, it's not what killed them. This one was gunned down from behind."

A glass shatters behind the counter.

"Hello?" she calls. "Is anybody here? We're not here to harm you."

A young twi'lek woman slowly raises her head, the rest of her body still hidden behind the bar.

"P-Please go away…" she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "They'll come back if they see you and I don't…"

The Force screams out a warning, and the girl is interrupted by the sound of a cocking gun. Revan turns around to face the door.

"Bit late for that, innit girl?"