I watched the Starkiller medical team prepare Vegas for transport. He was still comatose, but his condition had slightly improved. Slightly.

Ren appeared over my shoulder. The distinction between the real world and the dream world had been unclear to my feverish brain, but the last two days of wellness and solitude had brought it into focus. Between my angry challenge and my feverish babbling, I knew a rebuke was coming. But, when he spoke, his voice was barely audible under the growl of the voice filter.

"He'll be fine." I felt his hand on my arm. "Come."

Butterflies erupted in my stomach.

The communication chamber felt more cold and damp without the buffer provided by my armor. I assumed a prostrate posture as Ren bent down on one knee and removed his helmet. We waited for several minutes, which felt like an eternity in the crypt-like room.

When the hologram finally appeared, I glanced up. The Supreme Leader leaned his chin on his fist with a frown on his scarred face. His voice thundered throughout the room.

"Kylo Ren."

"I have done your bidding in the Outer Rim, Master. I stand ready to receive your instruction."

He hummed deeply. "I have uncovered troubling news, my apprentice." His voice became a low growl. "Skywalker does indeed live."

Ren's hand balled into a fist at his side.

"I have discovered the map of which you spoke. Fragments of it, buried in the Imperial archives. But it is incomplete."

"What must I do?" Ren asked urgently.

Snoke moved his hand to his lap. "We must meditate on the location of the missing piece. Light rises, shrouding it from my sight."

"Yes, Master," he said, eager.

On the speed lift, I hit the button for level nine, the medical ward. I felt Ren's faceless glance. When I stepped off, he did not follow.

They wouldn't let me near the surgical theater, but a medical assistant waved me into his recovery room a few hours later. It was bright and full of beeping monitors and hanging bags of various fluids. Vegas lay in a bacta bed, its crystal clear water illuminated with soft blue light from below. The closed lid of the pod concealed his lower half. His freshly stitched torso was fully submerged, with his hairy chest slowly rising and falling out of the water. Without the oxygen mask, his face almost looked peaceful.

"He may regain consciousness in the next few hours," the assistant told me tersely. "But don't hold your breath."

I nodded to her, holding my breath.

It was less than a few hours—it was two. I passed the time mostly leaning my chin on the edge of the pod, staring at the tiny blue ripples inside. Without Vegas, Starkiller Base was joyless. The ripples grew into small waves when he started to stir.

My head shot up.

He blinked rapidly as his pupils adjusted to the brightness. Brow furrowing, he lifted a hand out of the water and ran it over his thin beard. Then he stared at his dripping wet hand.

"Vegas," I said excitedly.

His eyes widened. "Caltrel...?"

Unable to help myself, I leaned over and put my arms around his neck. He breathed out a sound of disbelief as he placed his palm on my back. I didn't mind the dampness at all.

"I don't blame him for what happened," he said an hour later. "And neither should you."

After reiterating every one of Ren's mistakes in detail, I thought for sure he would take my side. I shook my head incredulously.

"You're loyal to a fault," I breathed. "Why?"

Vegas shrugged. His elbows were propped up on the sides of the pod as if he was enjoying a day at the spa. Every so often, he grimaced in discomfort.

"It's just my way," he said vaguely.

I watched his face as his eyes grew distant. "Ren said he's known you for five years," I murmured, fishing.

He nodded. "Yeah. He was on the team that abducted me for Stormtrooper training."

"How old were you?"

"Fifteen."

My guilt for bringing up such a sensitive topic was immediate. As I suspected, Vegas was much younger than he looked and behaved. "I'm so sorry."

He frowned and shook his head minutely. "It was a long time ago. I think he felt bad about it, because he kind of took me under his wing," he said with a bit of reverence. "Snagged me from Phasma as soon as I was old enough."

I felt myself smile, beginning to understand their strange bond. I couldn't help but wonder—

"What was he like back then?"

Vegas shot me a knowing look. "You'd like to know, hm?"

I glowered as my cheeks flushed with heat. He laughed at me and then swiftly apologized.

"His hair was shorter," he chuckled, the smile fading from his face. "And he was quiet. Very quiet."

It was well into the night cycle by the time I returned to my quarters. They felt particularly cramped after my excursion on the command shuttle. After a long shower, I logged into my computer terminal, grateful to have access to the full First Order database again. I opened an unread alert.

"Imperial archives—access granted."

My conversation with Ren came flooding back.

Just scrolling through the entries, I saw that the Galactic Empire had collected a staggering amount of data compared to the First Order. I opened a new search and typed "D-A-R," and results started populating below. The first one caught my eye.

"Darth Vader."