Mal slices through the air so fast her ears pop from the pressure. Her vision narrows down to a single field of importance only needing to see the next obstacle, the next speed ramp. It's a moving meditation where the world becomes loud enough that it's deafening and all wayward thoughts bleed from her mind. Maybe it's natural instinct that makes a rookie like her so good at swoop racing. But what is instinct if not the Force wrapped so tightly across your skin you can feel every gentle nudge. Mal gives her bike a hard tilt to the right barely scraping past the metal obstacle and onto the final ramp. The Force is electric around her; Mal swears she can almost taste it. And then she's past the finish line, brakes red hot in their effort to slow her down. The surrounding world begins to solidify. She hears her pulse first, then the rumble of the dying engine, the machinery of the track. Swoop racing is a beautiful rush, but like all truly pleasurable things in life, it's far too brief.

By the time Mal emerges into the swoop office, she's fully in business mode. She collects her winnings from the impressed Hutt and takes a seat in the corner to count them out. Mal isn't entirely sure how much money someone needs to go on a dragon hunting expedition, but she's not willing to take any chances. If they're going to do this, they'll be prepared for the worst possible outcome. And Mal owes it to the crew to make up for the loose hand she's been using on their credits so far.

"I'm surprised you're in here and not the cantina."

Mal glances up at Jolee's wrinkled face. He pointedly looks at the seat next to her until she moves her legs to make room. T3M4 rolls out from behind him and settles on her other side. She spares the droid a fond look before answering.

"All my adoring fans are here. And I'm not much of a drinker." And Bastila's mother haunts the cantina with a stern eye.

"Oh yeah?"

"Built up a pretty wicked tolerance when I was younger. The kind of shit that gets me drunk would burn your eyelashes right off."

"Bah, kid's stuff compared to some of the things I've tasted."

T3 whirs cheekily.

"Not allowed in the cantina?"

Mal taps the droid on the chassis in reproach. "I'm allowed in the cantina. I'm just banned from certain cantina activities."

"Such as?"

"She's not allowed anywhere near the Pazaak tables." Mission walks up and rests her hip on the table in front of them. "Did you win?"

"Of course I won," she grumbles as she drops the prize tickets into Mission's open palm.

"That's my champion!" Mission counts the tickets out with a pleased smile. "Look at that. We might actually have enough left for fuel once our little adventure's over." She stacks them neatly and gives Mal a playfully stern look. "Stay here."

"Then who's getting the supplies?"

"Canderous," Mission shrugs at Mal's sulking face. "Says he's the only one 'qualified' to know what he's doing. I'll keep an eye on him," she promises as she hurries away with a wave.

Mal grumbles under her breath but there's a pride to it. She's been worried about the effect Griff's latest disappearing act would have. It's a hard lesson to learn, losing faith in family, but Mission seems to have taken it in stride. Mal side eyes Jolee.

"Are you part of this mutiny too?"

He looks impressed. "Is that what this is? What are you being mutinied for?"

"Nothing!"

The series of whistles and beeps coming from T3 sound traitorous to Mal's ears.

"You lost all the crew credits playing Pazaak?" Jolee sounds appalled.

"I was trying to make us money, not lose it. Didn't know there would be real card sharks in Anchorhead." The droid hums again. "That's enough out of you, little one." The last thing she needs is comments on her level of skill. Jolee's watching her, amused. "Don't look at me like that. Being a Jedi doesn't exactly pay very well."

"Who are you telling? I lived in a stump for years."

"Not much of a retirement package then? Can't say I'm surprised."

"Most people don't retire. Didn't you read the fine print?"

"Guess I was too excited in the moment to think about it. So why did you leave?"

Jolee has that cryptic twinkle in his eye Mal knows all too well. "What makes you think I was the one who left?"

"I found you in a swamp… wait, what does that mean?"

"That I like living in swamps."

Oh, he's good. Maybe better at being an ass than you.

Mal glares. "You know what I meant. What happened?"

"Hmph. It's a long story."

"Figured that. I mean, you have been alive long enough."

"Does that sass never run out?"

"Afraid not."

Juhani appears in the doorway, catches their eye and nods.

"Finally," Mal breathes. She walks over to meet her. "We ready?"

"Almost."

Juhani leads them out onto the sandy streets when a Twi'lek approaches Mal. She tries her best to downplay the pride swelling in her chest as he gushes in adoration over her racing skills. No one had believed Mal was the swoop champion of Taris, but she's made a strong enough impression here that he asks for her autoprint and she gives it without hesitation. Proof you existed here. Another piece to live on after you're gone.

"You sure you should be doing that?" Jolee huffs as they make their way to the rendezvous point. "Considering you're on a supposedly secret mission with the one Jedi that Malak would do anything to get his hands on."

She shoots him an exasperated look. "His people find us no matter where we go. If they can track us in the depths of Kashyyyk, I don't think one autoprint is going to make much of a difference."

Jolee stares at her in the way she associates with all the old grumps at the Enclave. Like he's peering at something beyond and underneath her skin at the same time. "You know, you get this crazy look in your eye sometimes."

"Only sometimes?"

"You had it on Kashyyyk when we were at the Star Map. And earlier when you were explaining what happened with the Tuskens."

"Yeah, well I got to see something no one else on this dusty colony has even come close to understanding."

"And you're not worried they'll continue to kill the miners?"

Juhani's ears twitch at this. She doesn't look back, but Mal knows she's curious to hear the answer.

"Master Jedi," Mal scoffs. "Are you suggesting I should've killed them?"

"Do you take me for a bumbling fool? Of course not!" Jolee loses the mysticism and settles into his classic frown. Mal feels she can breathe a little easier. "I want to know why you chose not to."

"Let's say I had killed them. Maybe the compound would've stayed empty and Czerka could have their fill of useless rocks till they finally run dry and ship off to the next planet. Maybe a different clan moves in. A more ruthless clan who can't be swayed by something as simple as moisture vaporators. Maybe I didn't want to take the short-term solution that leads to disaster in the long run."

"Or?"

"Or maybe I don't like Czerka enough to do their dirty work. The galaxy may never know."

Mal sees Juhani's shoulders relax. Guess you finally did something to please the Cathar. An unexpected warmth tickles her chest with the thought.

"I'm a Padawan, you know."

Mal almost gives herself whiplash from the speed she turns to stare at Jolee. "Excuse me?"

Jolee huffs a dry laugh. Below the humor is a seriousness she recognizes as truth. "You called me 'Master Jedi'. I never ranked higher than a Padawan. Surprised?"

A million questions jam their way into her brain at once and turn to incoherent mush. She blinks at him and then Juhani who recovers from the shock much faster.

"You did not complete your trials?" she asks gently.

"There's more to being a Jedi than titles. Besides, you've heard some of my stories. Are you really that surprised?"

"No," Mal finds her words. "I suppose not." She turns to keep walking, then pauses again. "Does this mean I outrank you?"

"Dream on, Padawan." He shoulders past her. "I've been a Jedi longer than you've been alive. I'll always outrank you."

Mal grins and follows, but her thoughts remain stuck. A Padawan for all these years. Jolee is the most carefree Jedi she's met so far. His stories, as ridiculous and meandering as they are, sucker her in with their colorful details every time. Is this the fate of those who don't conform? Who choose a vivid life over the rigors of duty? No, there's more to it than that. For all his complaints, Jolee truly believes in the Jedi. That much she can tell. But there remain depths and layers to this old Jedi that Mal has only begun to glimpse.

He glances at her face, the way her eyes glaze in thought. "I think you were born too late in the galaxy."

That grabs her attention. "What?"

"Don't you have ears? Making me repeat myself all the time… I think you would've been better suited to an era of peace when Jedi spent more time forging connections and discovering the secrets of the Force and the like."

Mal tilts her head at this redirection of conversation. "What can I say? The universe is one big puzzle. I take a little pleasure putting the bits that I can together."

"Is that what you did in your life before this one?"

She attempts to read his expression, but it holds no malice. A genuine question. The paranoid part of her wants to believe every word leading up must've been groundwork for this one question. It holds that much weight in her mind. But the part that's begun to trust this cantankerous, shrewd, mystery of a man chooses to give a genuine answer.

"I was no one before. At least no one important."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that."

Mal shrugs. "To be completely honest, I'm winging it Jolee. I think I've been winging it since the day I was born."

Jolee watches her a moment, then smiles. "Now that I do believe."

Mal narrows her eyes at him. "I can't tell if you're being mean or if you're actually being nice to me."

"Or maybe I like to see you squirm. The galaxy may never know."

A smile tugs at her lips. "You got me there, old man."

Ahead, the rest of the Ebon Hawk crew are gathered by the tall imposing gates separating the colony from the desert. For such a ragtag group, they almost look like a cohesive unit from where she stands. They've teased her, scolded her, and in equal measure shared vulnerabilities that could crush them in the wrong hands. Your hands, if they betray you. No. That thought is becoming tiresome. The suspicion of entrapment. The tension of waiting for ulterior motives to leak through casual words.

Mal glances at Jolee. Sometimes a question is a question and not an interrogation. Sometimes people trust you with their lives not because they're naïve, but because they honestly believe in you. And maybe this is the truth of the Ebon Hawk. Maybe this could be her life if Mal would only let it.

Do you truly dare?

Don't say I didn't warn you.