"Finn, we know you're in there!" shouts Nines, one of his teammates. Ex-teammates.

Finn still can't believe he's left FO Tech Industries. He went to college on one of their scholarships, procured by Phasma, helped recruit for them, and now he can't face one more day at work. And it's not even their fault. It's him.

He presses his face into the pillow, trying to breath, such that air down into his lungs, but his lungs won't fucking work. Googling how to stop a panic attack is not actually that helpful.

"Finn!" howls Nines, slamming on the door, and the sound—bang, bang, pound, bang, pound—ricochets off the walls and targets Finn, slamming into his brain like bullets. Like the bullets he saw on the news, killing people. Bullets made by FO Tech. Supposedly sold illegally to criminals. Not just supposedly though. Nines joked about it when they saw that news report, and Finn felt a sickening twist in his heart, that his friend could joke about so much death, and when Finn asked Phasma, she didn't even attempt to deny it.

And all he could think as he witnessed a man on TV wailing over his dead family members—or was it just friends? Finn will never know—is that he had a hand in killing them. By working for the company that sold to the killers.

Go away, go away!

Something wet snuffles against Finn's arm, and he blinks and jerks upright to see that stupid dog with its paws on the bed.

"Get off," Finn mumbles.

The dog leaps on the bed and settles down next to his torso, resting its head on Finn's arm, and despite the fact that he knows he shouldn't let the dog on his bed, Finn buries his face into its fur. He strokes its back, running his fingers up and down and concentrating on the bumps in the dog's spine, on the softness of the dog's thick coat, on anything but the racket Nines is raising.

He can't stay here. Not when Phasma showed up last night and Nines this morning. He needs to get away.

Eventually, it quiets. Nines gives up, for now. The dog groans and Finn pries himself off of the bed, digging through his fridge to give the animal some cold cuts.

He could call the hospitals. The dozens and dozens of them spread around D'Qar. He owes it to Poe to bring him back his dog. Beebee-Ate. Weird name.

Or he could go back to Niima Coffee Post, ask if one of the workers knew anything about Poe Dameron. Because Finn googled the guy's name and found next to nothing. Not even a Facebook page.

Maybe Poe's a regular customer at that trashy coffee. Everyone from FO Tech avoids Niima Coffee Post—a junky place straddling the line between an upscale hotel and business neighborhood and essentially a ghetto. The unliklihood of running into any of his coworkers is precisely why Finn wanted to go there yesterday. Avoid them.

If no one will be there, you can go back and ask.

"C'mon, Beebee-Ate," Finn says, attaching the dog's leash again. "We're going to find your owner."

The sun beats down on Finn's head as he exits the bus and strides down the street, Beebee-Ate panting by his side. It's way too hot out today. And he's not at work, inside FO Tech's air-conditioned offices.

He'll never be there again. I can't kill people. Not directly or indirectly.

Finn pushes open the coffee shop door and sees the same girl as the night before. She waves. Finn glances over his shoulder, certain she's got to be waving at somebody else, but no, she's waving at him.

"Get that dog out of here!" barks an obese, bald man with a nose like a squashed pig's snout.

"It's okay, Unkar," calls the girl. "He helped last night with the hit-and-run."

"That doesn't have anything to do with that filthy—"

"I won't be long," Finn manages.

"Tie it outside," Unkar orders, and Finn knows he could argue, but he doesn't want to get the girl in trouble. He ducks back outside and obeys. Beebee-Ate whimpers and stares after Finn with bleeding dark eyes.

"Don't look at me like that," Finn grumbles as he reenters the shop, the scent of stale coffee wafting over him.

"What can I get you?" the girl asks, leaning over the counter.

"Um—well," he stammers. "I'm trying to find the dog's owner. Poe Dameron. I don't know what hospital they took him to, and I don't have any other way to reach him. Dog's tag doesn't even list his number."

The girl frowns and brushes an escaping strand of hair from her face. "Okay…"

"Do you know him?" Finn asks hopefully.

The girl shakes her head, pressing her lips together. "I'm sorry, I don't. Last night was the first time I've ever seen him."

"Fuck," Finn groans.

"Hey, you can call the hospitals, yeah?" she suggests.

"Yeah, of course." Finn claps his palms to his face, trying to rein in his breathing. Not again. How many panic attacks can he manage to have in one damn day?

"Hey, you okay?" the girl queries.

"Fine."

"No, you're not. Take a seat." The girl rounds the counter and takes him by the arm. Her touch is gentle as she leads him to a table. He drops into a plastic chair that digs into his spine by the windows. Even with the AC, the sun smashes its hands against the window, threatening to blind and burn him.

"Hold on." The girl vanishes, and Finn presses his hand over his mouth. He's trying to do something good for once in his life, trying to help someone by calling 911 and caring for the frickin' dog, and he can't even do that right. He's useless.

"Here you go." The girl slides a small iced coffee with so much cream in it that it's a beige shade instead of brown.

"I don't want—"

"It's free," she says, peering at him. Her eyes are hazel, and she looks at him with sympathy, not judgment. She doesn't know who he is. For all she knows, he could be good.

"Can you do that?" he asks.

She shrugs. "I get one free drink per shift. I don't feel like coffee today."

Finn sips it. The coffee has a husky aftertaste, but that's okay. It's sweet and it calms him. "Sorry."

"It's fine. Can't have a dog in your place or something?"

"Or something. I'm moving. Soon. I just quit my job, and yeah. I need to move."

"Can't offer you anything in terms of housing, but if you're looking for a job, we're probably hiring," the girl offers, glancing back at Unkar, who's currently cursing and spewing spit at the espresso machine.

"Uh… no thanks."

She smirks. "What's your name? And your number? If I hear anything from that guy, or the one he was here with, I'll call you."

"Finn." He grabs a brown napkin and she produces a pen for him to write down his info. "What's yours?"

She smiles. "I'm Rey."

Kylo Ren strides down the hall towards the CEO's office. Everyone he passes nods their head in respect, and he doesn't care, because he knows Snoke will by no means give him any respect or approval. Not today. He doesn't deserve it.

At least Snoke doesn't know about the coffee girl throwing the pot in his face. He still can't believe she did that. Okay, he wasn't exactly being polite. But couldn't she get fired for that? Although given the reputation of that place, maybe firing her isn't the best move for her boss to make.

You scared her. Kylo clenches his fists. He hadn't meant to, but that tip about Lor San Tekka came at the least opportune time. He hadn't meant to take it out on her, but he needed that information.

And you failed to get it.

Still, something pinches in his stomach as he thinks of the way she scowled at him, the hurt in her hazel eyes when he insulted her coffee shop.

"Shut the door," Snoke commands in his ghostly voice. Kylo obeys and takes a seat opposite his boss. Snoke folds his arms, leaning against his black desk. The entire room is done in shades of black and gray, with metal bookshelves and metal frames for the window. Cold. And intimidating.

"Well?" Snoke prompts.

"I couldn't find anything on Lor San Tekka."

Snoke swears. "You know that means he's probably with your uncle already."

"Maybe." Kylo has to offer that slight doubt. He has to.

"If he manages to convince Luke Skywalker to get involved, we'll be done for. The entirety of FO Tech Industries is at stake, Kylo Ren. The media's already having a field day."

"I'll take care of it," he promises.

"That's what you said two days ago."

Kylo focuses on paralyzing every muscle around his eyes, around his mouth save his tongue. Snoke can't see that his words sting. "It's just taking… a little longer. I'll still take care of it. I've never let you down before."

"We shall see." Snoke leans back. "We shall see." He ponders Kylo for a second, the hazy light of afternoon wafting over him, making his skin look almost translucent, as if Snoke's rotting while still alive. He rises. "There is one more thing."

"What's that?" Kylo cranes his neck to look up at his boss.

"I have it on good authority that your father hired Lor San Tekka not just to look for your uncle, but to look for you."

Kylo blinks, unable to stop it. He cares? Why now?

"And he might be working on getting access to our conference next week."

"I won't allow that," Kylo insists, glad Snoke can't hear his pulse throbbing in his ears like Kylo can. He means nothing to me.

Just as Kylo means nothing to his father. If he did, surely his father would have found him by now. It's been almost thirteen years.

"Indeed." Snoke's hand closes in on Kylo's shoulder as he leers over him. "You won't." He releases Kylo and sighs. "Go confer with Hux. Oversee the final preparations."

"Yes, sir." Kylo rises and nods, almost as if he's bowing his head to Snoke, before rushing out to find his sour companion.

Your father's looking for you…

Why now? Why does he suddenly care? Kylo hasn't seen Han Solo's face since he was a teenager, and, at twenty-nine now, he doubted he'd ever see it again.

Why? Kylo doesn't head directly to Hux. Instead, he slips into the bathroom and leans against the wall, closing his eyes. If his father's looking for him, does that mean his mother is too? Are they back together?

She needs to stop, if she is. But she won't. Once that woman sets her mind to something, she accomplishes it, and this terrifies Kylo. It fuels his need to find his blasted uncle.

So many questions, and Kylo knows he can't afford to get the answers.

The moment the old, monk-like man enters the coffee shop, Rey leaps to her feet, racing back behind the counter. "Can I help you?" she calls. Her eyes sweep him up and down, wondering why the other man was looking for him the day before. He carries a peaceful aura with him—the complete opposite of the frantic energy of the man she'd thrown her coffee into the face of.

"Why yes, maybe you can," the man says, smiling gently at her. "I'm here on behalf of the young man I met with yesterday, Poe Dameron. He was hit by a car—"

"Is this about the dog?" Rey interrupts.

He nods. "Yes, indeed."

"A guy was in here earlier—the same one who called 911. He has the dog. Poe told him to take care of it. He left me his number in case—"

"Excellent." The old man's fingers tremble with age as he draws a slip of paper out from his pocket. "Here is Poe's contact information. If you could tell the younger man to get in touch, he'd greatly appreciate it."

"Um, okay," Rey stammers. "Or you could—"

"I'm heading away from town for awhile," the man interrupts. "Poe will appreciate it."

"Someone came in after you left," Rey calls as the man turns away from the counter. "Yesterday night, right before closing. A young guy, with dark hair."

The man stiffens, and Rey wonders if he knows exactly whom she's talking about. "I didn't tell him anything," she clarifies, excitement stirring inside of her, as if she's participating in some great mystery she'll never know anything about, but it's larger than her all the same, and that's thrilling.

He casts her another smile. "Good luck." And he leaves. Rey frowns. Good luck?

She ducks out back, leaving Teedo to manage the front as she calls Finn to tell him what she's found out. "Hey, um, it's Rey. From Niima Coffee Post."

"Rey!" Finn's voice lifts, and Rey can't stop a grin from spreading over her face as she details what the old man said.

"Oh, that's great!" Finn gushes. "Thank you so much, Rey!"

"Welcome." She leans against the oversized sink, turning the spray on just because. "Well… bye."

"Bye." He hangs up, and Rey stares at the receiver. He's the first person who's ever seemed excited to get a phone call from her.

"Talking on the phone?" Unkar scowls as he lumbers past.

Rey explains about the dog, and he shakes his head. "I could dock your wages."

Her jaw drops. "Teedo takes eight smoking breaks at a minimum per shift!"

"Teedo's been here lots longer than you, girl. You're always chatting with customers, giving away free drinks—"

Rey shoves her phone back in the pockets of her baggy pants. "That was only today, and it was my free drink! The allotted one."

"Just because I allow you one doesn't mean I expect you to take it!" Unkar bellows.

Rey shakes her head in disgust—is he for effing real right now?—and heads back out. Unkar's hand closes over her arm. "What the hell?" she shrieks.

"Don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you, girl!" He shoves his face close to hers, and Rey smells something stronger than coffee on his breath. Whiskey?

"Let go of me!"

"Fine. I'll let you go." Unkar shoves her away. "You're fired."

"What?" Rey squeaks, the fire in her stomach simmering into ash. "You can't do that!"

"You're fired."

"But I have rent due next week!" And she needs the paycheck from this week and the next to make it. She sees the glitter in Unkar's eyes, the way his lips flap open and closed, and knows he wants her to beg. Begging will probably work.

She won't do it. She can't.

Rey unties her apron and throws it down on the table, striding out of Niima Coffee Post.