There were voices arguing in the corridor. If Ahsoka were to try, she could probably make out the words. They were speaking mostly in Basic, though every once in a while, what sounded like Huttese or Meese Caulf broke through, loud enough to be heard through the thick walls.

But then Ahsoka didn't really need to try. Neither did she need to see them to know what Anakin was arguing about with Seek—who'd been at the Governors' meeting, for some reason—and Vice Governor Banai. Instead, she stared up at the star map in the center of Anakin's office, dread coiled tight in her chest, silently tracing the lines of hyperspace routes that led to Geonosis.

Obi-Wan was there. Her Master was there, and he needed her. He wasn't even a parsec away—and what was she doing?

Absolutely nothing. Ahsoka should have been on her way there to rescue him, but instead here she was: stuck in Anakin's office, forced to listen to some muffled argument, while she twiddled her thumbs like a useless youngling and waited for news from the Council.

Some Padawan she was.

"We will deal with Count Dooku," Master Windu had said, after Ahsoka and Anakin had retransmitted Obi-Wan's message to the Council. "The most important thing for you, Ahsoka, is to stay where you are. Protect the Senator at all costs. That is your first priority."

"But I have to go after Master Obi-Wan!" Ahsoka had protested. "You're halfway across the galaxy, Master. You won't get there in time to—"

"Ahsoka," Anakin had said sharply. "We have our orders. We follow it to the letter, as is protocol."

It was the last thing she had expected from him. Not only because he had agreed with Master Windu, despite everything he'd said about Obi-Wan and the Council, but because of the sudden sternness in his tone. It wasn't the first time she'd been on the receiving end of it, but it had stunned her silent. More than that, it had stung her to hear, and she wasn't sure why it had.

Ahsoka wasn't sure when the argument outside had stopped, either. It must have, because there was a hand on her shoulder, gently steering her from the holoprojector. She obeyed its pressure without really thinking about it. Only as she walked blindly through the unfamiliar hallways did she realize that Anakin was leading her away from his office and out of the Capitol building.

"You knew," she said. There was no need to explain what she meant: somehow Anakin had known about Obi-Wan's transmission before she'd received it. Maybe he had known before Obi-Wan had even sent it.

"Yes, I did," Anakin said.

"How?"

"I don't know. I just did."

There was something in his voice that Ahsoka knew boded ill, and she almost wanted to ask him why. Why he had known before she had. Why the Force had warned him and not her. Why he seemed so attuned to the Force in ways she had never seen before—in ways she knew she would never be, no matter how much she studied and trained.

But Ahsoka didn't ask. She realized then that she truly didn't want to know. The same awe she had felt on her first night on Tatooine when she had seen him train, the same curiosity, the same sense of helplessness—she felt it all now, and she knew there had to be a cost to this kind of power. Maybe it would be for the best if she never found out what that was.

When they reached the landing platform, Anakin darted over to an aging freighter and not, to Ahsoka's surprise, the landspeeder they'd arrived in.

"What is this?" she asked, looking up at the ship. The meteor-pocked panel on the hatch read Twilight.

"Our transport, courtesy of Ziro the Hutt," Anakin said, boarding the light freighter without turning to see if she would follow. "Had this bucket of bolts salvaged from the war—seemed like a waste to just to let it rot away."

Ahsoka felt herself jolt forward, hurrying after him toward the cockpit. "But why are we . . ."

"It doesn't look like much, I know, but my modifications should be enough to get us to Geonosis and back again."

Fear stirred in her chest again, tightening its grip. "Geonosis?"

Either Ahsoka was moving sluggishly slow or Anakin was moving faster than the naked eye could follow. He was already seated in the pilot's chair, his hands a flurry of motion as he flicked the switches on the control panel, preparing the engines for firing.

"We're going to rescue Obi-Wan," he said.

Her thoughts froze. "What do you mean?"

"The Jedi will never get there in time, but we're only less than a parsec away. If we leave now, we should be able to—"

"But that's what I said to Master Windu!" Ahsoka snarled, her fear quickening to anger.

Anakin swiveled in his seat, intently and very suddenly looking right at her. "It's not about what you said, Ahsoka. It's the way you said it."

"But I don't understand. You said I had to follow protocol. That I shouldn't argue with orders."

"And your orders were to protect me," he said calmly. "Master Windu never said how or where."

Ahsoka gaped at him. He had spoken like it was the most obvious thing in the world. With a sudden rush of understanding, she said, "You always meant to go to Geonosis."

There was a flash of teeth, illuminated by the light of the displays and indicators already up and running. "Doing what the Jedi Council says, that's one thing. How we go about doing it, that's another."

Ahsoka stared at him for another moment. Then, almost without meaning to, she grinned back. The fear in her chest was still there, stirring, but the tightness had eased just enough that she felt she could breathe out. And when she did, she found that her anger had gone as quick as it had come, replaced with familiar anticipation.

"I don't know if Obi-Wan would approve," she said, finally moving toward the copilot's seat. As she began strapping in, the status board went green.

Anakin turned back to the console with a huff of laughter. "He can yell at us after we've rescued him. But he won't yell too much, I'm sure. After all, we were only following orders."

"To the letter," Ahsoka said.

Anakin keyed the drive, and the Twilight shot out of the docking bay, roaring up into the Tatooine sky.


It was unnerving to see Count Dooku in the flesh.

Not so because the man was a legend of the Jedi Order, nor because Obi-Wan was staring at proof that Anakin had been—annoyingly—right about his suspicions. It was not even because Obi-Wan was meeting his Master's Master for the first time—and for what may yet be the last.

It was unnerving, because in Dooku's countenance—in those alert and appraising eyes, in those high and proud cheekbones, in the faint twist of his mouth—there was a familiar intensity. A palpable thing, as though Obi-Wan was standing a little too close to the fire.

It was unnerving, because it was like looking at Qui-Gon again. It had been the same ever-burning intensity that had made him clash with the Council, had him disrupting orders without going against mandates, when he had found a cause he'd believed held precedent. That had him stomping around, chewing over issues and injustices, and had left Obi-Wan floundering and stumbling behind in his wake.

The same intensity he had seen so often—perhaps always—in Anakin.

Twisting slowly in the force field, restrained by crackling bolts of blue energy, Obi-Wan could see it around Dooku now, swirling around him like his black cape, as he said, "It's a great pity that our paths have never crossed before, Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon always spoke very highly of you. I wish he were still alive—I could use his help right now."

"Qui-Gon Jinn would never join you," Obi-Wan said, holding his voice as steady as possible.

"Don't be so sure, my young Jedi," Dooku said, an offsetting smile on his face, one of confidence and calm. "You forget that Qui-Gon was once my apprentice just as you were once his. He knew all about the corruption in the Senate, but he wouldn't have gone along with it if he had learned the truth as I have."

"The truth?"

"The truth," Dooku said gravely, as he circled around Obi-Wan. "What if I told you that the Republic was now under the control of the Dark Lords of the Sith?"

"No, that's not possible," Obi-Wan said, without missing a beat. "The Jedi would be aware of it."

"The dark side of the Force has clouded their vision, my friend. Hundreds of Senators are now under the influence of a Sith Lord called Darth Sidious."

"I don't believe you."

"Perhaps you should, seeing as the Chosen One now numbers among them."

Obi-Wan felt his heart lodge in his throat. "What?"

"I speak of the prophecy of the one who will bring balance to the Force."

"What do you know of it?" Obi-Wan snapped.

"Come now," Dooku said, still circling around Obi-Wan, his voice warm and inviting. "Surely you did not believe Qui-Gon was the only Jedi to be guided by ancient prophecies. Surely you did not believe it is only the Jedi who have such prophecies at all."

"The Chosen One is a myth," Obi-Wan retorted, but the words felt like a lie. His mind was whirling—his promise to Qui-Gon, the last thing he'd ever said to his Master, echoed in his ears.

Train the boy, Qui-Gon had said. His last wishes, all his hopes, distilled down to one person. So it had to be true. Qui-Gon had faith in the prophecy, in Anakin, and so Obi-Wan had found faith in it too.

"Perhaps," Dooku said. "Perhaps not. As I understand it, this Sith Lord has taken quite an interest in the boy, regardless."

"Is that why you sent your assassins after Senator Skywalker?"

Obi-Wan had expected a denial, one that he would have promptly disproved. He had seen for himself the conversation between Dooku and Viceroy Nute Gunray: Anakin's head in exchange for the Trade Federation's battle droids. It had made sense to him that the Neimoidians would want Anakin dead for his contribution in the Battle of Naboo, and for Dooku to acquiesce to the demand so he could take control of Tatooine's hyperspace routes, as Anakin had suspected.

But Dooku came to a halt and inclined his head in a curt nod.

"The Council has made many mistakes," he said, and for the first time, his tone held the trace of an edge. The faintest crack in his composure. "Washing their hands of Anakin Skywalker is one of them. My Padawan gave you your messiah, and in your blindness, you delivered him to the devil."

Obi-Wan caught his breath. It rattled in his lungs, tightened his chest.

"The Viceroy of the Trade Federation was once in league with this Darth Sidious," Dooku said sleekly. "But he was betrayed ten years ago by the Dark Lord. He came to me for help. He told me everything. I tried many times to warn the Jedi Council of the corruption in the Senate, but they wouldn't listen. Once they sense the Dark Lord's presence, it will be too late."

Dooku paused, expectant. Obi-Wan fought to keep his expression impassive.

"Anakin Skywalker is powerful," Dooku went on. "I knew it the moment I laid eyes on him. If he is not stopped, Darth Sidious will see that power bent to his will. You must join me, Obi-Wan, and together we will destroy the Sith."

It all seemed so reasonable, so logical, so in line with the legend of Count Dooku as Obi-Wan had learned it. But he knew better than to believe those silken words. Knew better than to contemplate what they meant and what they implied. Because if he did, then he would think of Anakin—young and bright, far too bright to have looked at him with such hollow eyes—and he would think of Anakin walking away, of the cold weight of Anakin's lightsaber in his hand—and he would think of the grief that lived in his chest, and all the failures that dogged his shadow.

"I will never join you, Dooku," Obi-Wan said flatly.

Dooku stared at him, scrutinizing. The look in his eyes was so familiar that for a moment, Obi-Wan was twelve years old again, on the cusp of being sent away from the Temple, looking up at the looming figure he had begged to train him as a Padawan. Eager to prove his worth. Desperate to meet his Master's exacting standards.

The same man he had failed. All those promises he couldn't keep.

Dooku gave a great and disappointed sigh, then turned to leave. "It may be difficult to secure your release," he said, as he exited the room and left Obi-Wan to his fate.


"In response to this direct threat to the Republic, I propose that the Senate grant immediate emergency powers to the Supreme Chancellor."

For a moment, ringing silence followed her words. Padmé could feel the shock echoing throughout the Senate Hall, that she—the fiercest, most vocal opponent of the creation of a Republic army—would suggest such a drastic measure. That she would put forth a motion that would bypass the vote altogether, as good as proclaiming her support for the very thing she had fought so hard against.

Padmé couldn't believe it herself. But Anakin was out there, she knew. Anakin was on Geonosis at this very moment, and the Republic needed that army if there was to be any hope of reaching him in time. Of stopping Dooku and the Separatists in time.

And then the chamber erupted: jeering, at first, from the opposition she had led, but soon drowned out by cheering and applause, gaining momentum with each passing second. The noise was deafening, silenced only by Palpatine and his reluctant acceptance.

It was done. The Republic was going to war, and Padmé had been its gavel.


Later, Ahsoka would look back and wonder why she didn't figure it out sooner.

The puzzle pieces had been there, staring at her right in the face. All along, the Force had been guiding her, nudging her inch by inch toward the answer.

Ahsoka couldn't say for sure how, exactly, she came to realize it. How those puzzle pieces all fell into place and clicked. Maybe it had been on the trip to Geonosis, as she felt her nerves turn fraught with anticipation, with the certainty that, one way or another, she was walking into a battlefield. She had looked at Anakin—at the grim expression on his face, at his tight-knuckle grip on the controls of the Twilight, at the way his entire body seemed strung tight, like a wire stretched thin just before it snapped—and knew he felt the same. And though it hadn't eased the tension, and though he had given her no platitudes to calm her, it had made her feel a little less alone.

Or maybe it had been on Geonosis itself, on the floor of that great stadium, surrounded by a hundred Jedi battling scores of droids and Geonosians. Amid all the chaos was Anakin, fighting alongside them with a borrowed lightsaber, back-to-back with Obi-Wan as they moved with a synchronized adeptness Ahsoka had never had with her Master. As if this was how it had always been. As if this was how it was always meant to be.

Or maybe it had been after Ahsoka had stupidly found herself tumbling out the open dropdoor of their gunship. She had been forced to race after them, gathering as many clone troopers as she could, determined to help Obi-Wan capture Dooku and end the war before it could truly begin. And with each step she took, she thought she could hear the echo of Anakin's scream as she fell, of Anakin saying, For what it's worth, I think he's fortunate to have you as a Padawan.

Maybe it had happened when Ahsoka arrived on the hangar too late—the battle already lost, Dooku gone without a trace. Maybe it had been as she watched Anakin stagger to his feet, his right arm severed, leaning his weight against Obi-Wan so he could stay upright and greet her with a stupid joke and a weak smile. As she watched Obi-Wan look at Anakin, his face pale and haunted, as she felt through the Force the now-familiar ache draping over him—the regret he couldn't quite hide from her, the well-worn sadness Anakin couldn't see. As she watched Master Yoda look at them both, his shoulders slumped with regrets of his own.

And maybe that was it. In that moment, staring at these histories that preceded her, maybe that was what made it all click into place. That made Ahsoka realize she wasn't just looking at some brash, cocky senator who liked to sound older than he was, or a half-trained Force-sensitive with more power than she could comprehend.

Ahsoka was looking at one of her own. She was looking at someone who knew what it was like to walk in her shoes. Someone who had once been like her: a Padawan. A Jedi.

Anakin Skywalker had been a Jedi.

Oh, she thought. That makes sense.