It felt like I was falling. My head was spinning, my feet were kicking as gravity pulled me down, down, down.
Or was it...?
I could see nothing but darkness. My fingers scrabbled at a hand tightly gripping my throat. It was cold and unforgiving, but I suddenly realized it was the only thing keeping me from falling to my doom. My body became like ice, immobile, and then—
Jerking awake, I felt my hands shoot straight to my throat and grapple with nothing but air. I let go of an anxious breath and blinked, struggling to find the light. This time, a soft glow illuminated the room from the window on the door. The door of my cell.
I wiped beads of sweat from my forehead as I sat up. I began reorienting myself to the strange atmosphere—so heavy and cold. My stomach twisted when I thought of home.
The vanity light clicked on as I entered the fresher to relieve myself. Even though I knew I should be starving, I had no appetite at all. Outside my cell, the corridor was flooded with white light from some unknown source. A sun? Day cycle lights?
Then my interrogation came to mind, and I began to pace uncontrollably.
Admittedly, I was surprised they hadn't killed me yet. Just the thought of it tightened my chest with fright. I wondered if they thought I had more information about the Resistance's associates. I chewed hard on my lip as I pictured more interrogations, and the eyes behind the mask.
Soon, I heard footsteps echoing down the corridor outside. I froze, eyes darting around the room in search of a place to hide or take cover. I failed to move at all before the door clattered open.
It was the same officer as before, who motioned to me in the exact same way. I followed him out of my cell, surprised by the lack of restraints this time. He didn't speak a word as he led me down a different set of corridors than before. Dread hit me like a smack in the face.
No more interrogations.
He led me into a room that looked like a cargo bay. Four armed Stormtroopers were lined up in a row, standing as still as statues. Ice poured through my veins as my warden spun me around and put his hands on my shoulders. I looked at him over my shoulder.
"P—Please..."
"Down," he ordered, forcing me to my knees.
Although my back faced the firing squad, I heard the click and whir of blasters being activated. My ears started ringing.
Not now. I can't die now!
I tasted blood in my mouth. I couldn't breathe.
"Any final words?" someone said, their voice underwater.
I squeezed my eyes shut as my mind whirled like a vortex.
Speak, speak, SPEAK!
"I'll join you!" I screamed, my voice quivering and thready. "I—I'm educated...skilled...I can be of service to the First Or—"
The butt of a rifle hit the back of my head, and I saw stars. I fell forward, my forehead bashing into the cold floor before I could catch myself. A scuffle broke out, with the warden barking orders that I couldn't decipher. Then, the hard barrel of a blaster pressed into the back of my head.
"I'll do it myself," said my warden's voice.
Suddenly, the pleasant chirp of a communicator went off right above me. He released an incredulous sigh and answered it.
"This is Vegas."
"Corporal, return the prisoner for further interrogation," said a voice over the line. "And inform her Fleet that she is dead."
Dead?
"I...sir—" The blaster vanished from my head. "Are you sure?"
"Don't make me repeat myself."
"Yes, Lord Ren."
Boots retreated from standing over me. My sweaty palms slipped on the ground as I pushed myself into a seated position. My vision swam, and I wondered if I actually had died. The warden's exasperated face appeared in view when he yanked me up by my arm.
"I guess it's your lucky day, gorgeous."
The interrogation room was the same—cold and oppressive—but without the interrogator. I was sat in the chair with my wrists bound as before. As soon as I was alone, I let a smile break free on my lips. I'm alive. I pulled in a lungful of cold air and savored it. I felt so happy I could cry.
When the door clacked open minutes later, all of my joy fled. I bowed my head low, stealing glimpses out of the corner of my eye. If I had been able to, I would've been on my knees, ready to beg and plead for my life. The same masked creature stood before me.
"You understand I cannot let you leave this base."
"Yes," I rasped, lifting my head. "I want to join you."
I expected more of a surprised reaction than I received. He took one step forward and crossed his arms over his broad chest.
"What would you—a nomad girl—have to offer the First Order?"
"Anything," I breathed. "Everything."
He, Ren, drew near, towering over me as if to squash my defiance. I felt a quiver of fear run up my spine, and I looked down. He put a finger under my chin and jerked my face upward. When he spoke, his voice was somewhat bemused through the filter of his helmet.
"Not twelve hours ago, you cowered before the First Order."
"I feared for my life," I said hoarsely, my words not as strong as I intended. I need to appeal to his humanity. "Would you not have done the same?"
He did not answer.
Instead, he dropped my face and stepped away from me. I practically felt his look of disapproval through the mask. A rush of humiliation swept over me as I imagined what he must think of me. Foolish, desperate, weak. He cupped his hands behind his back.
"My superior has put your life in my hands."
I looked up at him with shamelessly pleading eyes. "I'll do any..."
Before I could finish, my restraints clicked and loosened around my wrists. I gasped when they clattered to the ground. Cautiously, I brought my hands in front of me and stood.
Ren was still head and shoulders above me. He took one threatening step forward, and my breath hitched.
"Don't make me regret sparing you, Lucia Caltrel," he warned.
