Ophelia had closed her eyes, had had them closed for a long time. Her stomach rumbled; she winced. They hadn't eaten for at least a day, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could put up with it. There were no more rations; they'd split whatever they had left between the two of them. Evenly.

And when she had her eyes closed, everything was black, and that left her with a blank canvas. Something she could change; something she could control. Because she knew very well — all too well — that she had no control over her current situation.

"He's here."

Krennic's voice jerked her out of her reverie, and hunger was now her least concern. She looked through the view screen.

The ship engines they'd heard yesterday had made her aware that someone was coming — that the Empire was coming — but now she had to accept that it was true.

There would be no escape now.

"I'm still your prisoner, I take it?" Ophelia asked, side-eyeing Krennic.

The Director nodded, straightened his tunic. She marvelled at the fact he had never taken off his cape; they'd been stranded in the shuttle on the planet for more than a day, and he had not removed his cape.

And soon enough the leafy trees parted and gave way to a white gash — a parade of Stormtroopers. And in their midst was a tall, striking figure, dressed head to toe in grey, and with a grim look on his taut features.

Tarkin.

Ophelia watched him, did not shudder.

The officer waved a hand, and the troopers lowered their blaster rifles.

Even the alien birds, it seemed, ceased their twittering.

There was a hiss and a hum as Krennic keyed in a command for the shuttle's loading bay to open. It opened very slowly; evidently, it had been damaged upon impact.

Krennic stood up from his chair instantly, white cape billowing around him, and Ophelia stayed where she was.

She wasn't scared. She was furious.

"Governor Tarkin," Krennic said. His tone verged on simpering, and Tarkin could sense that.

The Governor rewarded him with a tight smile. "Director. I'm glad you're well."

"My apologies, Sir," Krennic said. "We were overcome by Rebels, and we were forced to land here."

"Forced?" Now Tarkin had noticed her.

"Ah—"" Krennic said, stumbling over this words; he gestured to Ophelia. "This is the reason we had to land on this planet. And why we had to wait two days for assistance."

Tarkin raised an eyebrow.

"For which I am grateful, of course."

"And you are?" The Moff's eyes slid over to her.

Ophelia caught his glare with her own, and she did not flatter. She stood up, went in front of Krennic. "Ophelia Lacemaker."

"The escaped slave from Tatooine?"

Krennic smiled. "You got my full transmission then?" he asked, to which Tarkin nodded.

Ophelia turned in her heel, glowered at Krennic.

"Take her away." There was acid in his voice, and Ophelia glowered at Tarkin.

Krennic waited awhile before stepping in, his gaze catching on Ophelia's. "Governor, Sir," he began, sounding almost nervous, as he stepped forwards.

Tarkin glared at him, set his jaw. The Stormtroopers were still holding her roughly.

"Yes?"

"She was my prisoner, back on the star destroyer," Krennic said. "But that was before we landed — crashed — here. We had only on another for company for two days and—"

But Tarkin, it seemed, was bored. He nodded at the troopers, and Ophelia grimaced as they increased their grip on her shoulders.

"Very well, Director. Speak."

Krennic tugged at his uniform jacket, bit his lower lip. "As I was saying, in that time, she explained how useful she could be to the Empire."

"You're saying she would be an asset?"

"Yes, Sir. She escaped from her prison cell on the star destroyer—"

"She what?"

"Never mind," Krennic said swiftly, looking back over at Ophelia. He remembered their conversations, their discussions of the past. He remembered Tarkin belittling Project Stardust. He remembered mention of Grand Admiral Thrawn's TIE Defender Project. Krennic forced himself to still his rage. It would happen. Soon enough.

"My point is," Krennic said, and this time, he spoke with finality. "That we would be foolish to pass up this opportunity. She knows contacts… in the Rebellion. She has access to Rebel codes and frequencies. We can use her to destroy the Rebellion from the inside out."

A winning hand.

She was pulled out of the shuttle, shoved through the forest, and all before she could speak. She was given no time to speak, to protest, to argue, to ask, and that, she assumed, was the way the Empire did things.

No, she knew that was was how the Empire operated.

Ophelia realised she must've hurt her shoulder at some point. Whether it was during the firefight on the star destroyer or a result of the shuttle's hard impact the m the planet, she wasn't too sure. She didn't need to know why or how.

The fact that it hurt was all she knew. One of the Stormtroopers had grabbed her too roughly, and when his gloved fingers curled around her bruised shoulder, she yelped.

A blaster rifle was soon jabbed into the small of her back, and she knew not to complain anymore.

She had been lead — paraded — through the dense forest for some time until daylight eventually became clearer. The trees open d to reveal a pathway, a clearing, and there she saw an Imperial transport.

When they were near enough to it, she could see the ghostly figures of Tarkin and Krennic reflected in its windows.

In all honesty, she was surprised that Tarkin himself had even shown up. So, it seemed, was Krennic. The Director had appeared nervous, unsure, as if he was trying to second-guess the Governor, and Ophelia gathered that staying one step ahead of Tarkin wasn't easy. Krennic's anxiety was testament to that.

The blast doors were already open, and Ophelia nearly stumbled as the troopers shoved her inside. The shackles seemed tighter now, and the inside of the transport was claustrophobic. She breathed. In, out. In, out.

As she turned around — or rather, as she was turned around — she caught Krennic's gaze.

His blue eyes focused on her, and she wondered what he was thinking.

The Tarkin stepped between them. "You must accept my thanks, Director. This one has been difficult to catch — and to keep." A snarl curled on his lips as he looked over at Ophelia, who was now sat in between two Stormtroopers.

She lifted her head up, watched him, wanting so desperately for Tarkin to feel scrutinised.

But Tarkin was unperturbed.

Krennic cleared his throat. "I wouldn't give her the opportunity to escape my custody's."

"Again?" Tarkin added, smiling cruelly.

"Precisely."

Tarkin nodded. "You may go now, Director. I'll take it from here."

Krennic made to her walk away from the transport. And then he stopped. He glared angrily at the trooper who was closing the blast door, and the trooper stepped back. Krennic turned on his heel, marched back up to Tarkin, who seemed bemused.

"Actually, Sir. I wanted to speak to you about this prisoner."

"Yes?"

"She cannot be locked up."

"We can throw away the key." That cruel smile returned.

"We could." A beat. "But I do believe we could use her."

"I'm listening."

So was Ophelia.

"Locking her up would only incentivise her into breaking out again."

"We'll be in hyperspace soon enough." Tarkin was starting to look annoyed now.

"That would make no difference."

"Would it not?"

"Do you want to take that chance?"

Ophelia sighed, over-dramatically. "I broke out of that cell in the star destroyer, didn't I?" she muttered. "And where is it now? Oh, right. Lying in pieces all across this planet."

Tarkin raised an eyebrow. Krennic, too, seemed alarmed.

Tarkin gave a sigh, clicked his fingers at the troopers either side of her. "Unshackle her."

"Sir?"

"Do it." Tarkin then gave the order for takeoff into his commmunicator.

Krennic — and Ophelia — stared after him.

"The Director can escort Miss Lacemaker to the cockpit." Tarkin's voice echoed through the corridors.

The Stormtrooper escort lagged behind them somewhat. Either Tarkin didn't entirely trust Krennic or he didn't entirely trust her. Ophelia wasn't sure which, and she didn't like either of those options.

But she could still hear the thump of their boots as they marched on the metal floor, and she could still hear the steady hum of the static in their communicators, and she could still hear snatched of their conversations.

"I don't think Tarkin trusts you," she eventually said, side-eying Krennic.

He grunted. "It doesn't matter what you think." The words had come out harshly, and he hadn't meant it like that. But he could feel the pressure, the expectation, the promises that he had yet to deliver on, and they were suffocating him. When he closed his eyes, Krennic remembered his words to the Emperor, remembered those promises and declarations.

Yes, Project Stardust will be like nothing the galaxy has ever seen before.

Yes, I have recruited the best minds from the Core Worlds to the Outer Rim to make this dream a reality.

Yes, I understand that Grand Admiral Thrawn has voiced his concerns about this project.

And so it went on. The questions, the doubts, the self-doubt.

Krennic had apparently been so deep in thought that he hadn't noticed they'd arrived at the cockpit; it was only a small transport after all.

The Stormtroopers stepped to one side, and Krennic sat in the seat beside Tarkin.

Ophelia felt the eyes on her as she lowered herself into a nearby jump seat.

They were in the air, and then in space, quicker than she expected. She stole a glance over the pilot's shoulder and all she saw was blackness. Space, as ever, was a void, and she knew she only had the one option.

She had to trust Krennic.

So she had to trust the man who had put her into this situation.

Ophelia felt her eyes becoming heavy; she shifted in her seat. The air was cold and tight, and she knew that the fatigue would catch up with her. So she closed her eyes for but s moment, and soon enough they'd docked with a larger spacecraft.

She was about to stand, was ushered back into her seat. She withered under Tarkin's glower, and she noticed that Krennic was also watching him closely. The Stormtroopers rose ceremoniously, and with a jab of a blaster she understood that she was to walk out with them.

Tarkin had disembarked first and was waiting at the end of the ramp. A gaggle of Stormtroopers flanked him on either side. Ophelia could hear Krennic's quiet footsteps behind her.

"Director Krennic here has told me you should be useful."

She nodded. "I guess so." What else could she say? She couldn't lie. And she couldn't refuse.

Tarkin stroked his chin. "And while he has… failed me on occasion in the past, he seems genuine." He waved Krennic over. "Director, I shall hold you responsible for any of… Miss Lacemaker's shortcomings."

Krennic nodded. "I will bear that in mind."

"Be sure you do. I will have some quarters made up for the girl, and then we can find out what exactly it is she knows," Tarkin said quickly, as if he didn't have the time, and then he turned on his heel and was gone. The troopers fell into step behind him.

"I was sincere," Ophelia told Krennic, as they stood in the empty loading bay.

He looked at her. "Sincere?"

"Yes." She sighed, glanced down at her wrists, as if she could still feel the cold metal of the shackles. They were not there but she felt them all the same. "I've been made a fool of. I won't let that happen again. I can fix things. I can escape. I could help others escape — other Imperial prisoners."

"I am listening."

"And I heard what Tarkin said. I know — well, I can guess — things aren't looking too good for your project now—""

But glared at her, stepped forwards. "You don't know."

"Fine," she conceded. "But I can guess. And you've seen firsthand how easily I got out of your interrogation cell. How easily I disabled that droid."

"I know. And I've said I'll give you a chance. The Empire can use to, Ophelia, and I'd advise you to accept that invitation."