The floor shuddered with each pulse of the Finalizer's main gun. The powerful blasts of plasma soared across the main viewport, washing the bridge in a haunting red color before vanishing into the blue atmosphere of the Outer Rim planet Elrood. Each pulse resonated deep in my chest.

"The initial barrage is of vital importance," General Graves said beside me. "Striking fear into the hearts of the natives will prevent a bloody uprising."

I nodded, not daring to ask what the canon was targeting on the surface below. I had a feeling the archaic civilizations on Elrood didn't have many military bases.

"Did you serve during the Rebellion, sir?" I asked.

He glanced at me. "Oh, yes. I served in the Battle of Yavin."

"Wow," I breathed.

"Zero BBY," he mused quietly. "Turned the tide of the war. May the First Order never see it."

I set my jaw. "Yes, sir."

Another question appeared in my mind a moment too late. I inhaled sharply and plunged ahead anyway. "Did you meet Lord Vader, sir?"

The corner of his mouth turned up. "Only once, as I was a young officer at the time. My mentor clashed with him often. Fortunately, he knew exactly when to let out the chain."

The last word put a pit in my stomach. "Who was that, sir?"

"Grand Moff Brendol Hux."

"General," a voice barked from nearby. "Transmission from the command shuttle. They are departing the surface. Hangar A-12 is being prepped."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Graves rumbled. When I straightened my cap, he gave me a knowing glance. "Is that your cue, young lady?"

"Yes, sir," I said with chagrin. I snapped a salute. "Thank you for humoring me."

He nodded graciously. "Anytime."

I had to ask droids for directions several times. The winding corridors of the Finalizer were like a maze—an intentional design. As I entered the busy hangar, the command shuttle was just touching down, followed by a squadron of screeching TIE Fighters. Their replacements took off as soon as they landed, filling the large space with a cacophony of noise. Crew and droids bustled this way and that in the organized chaos.

Ren was the first to descend the ramp with urgent steps, followed by a battalion commander and several unit leaders. I stood at attention, preparing to salute when he approached me. He breezed by me instead, slamming a wall of air into my face. Hm. Odd. Though we had fallen asleep on opposite sides of the bed, he had placed a tender kiss on my forehead when he left early that morning.

A flood of Stormtroopers disembarked. My eyes quickly scanned them, searching for Vegas's red shoulder guard. He eventually broke away from the pack, and my mouth fell open. A streak of dark blood was painted across his breastplate. His usual motivated stride was slow and uneven...odd.

"Can we talk?" he asked.

"Sergeant." The battalion commander gestured sternly. "Decontamination."

"Oh, decon," he sighed. "Wait for me?"

I nodded rapidly. "Of course."

"Back to your division, Corporal," the commander added harshly.

I deadpanned.

Vegas ran a hand through his wet hair as we sat in the quiet paraloft above the hangar. My fingers absentmindedly palpated the embroidered patch on my arm as I tried to read his blank expression. The shelves we were leaning against were filled with black leather jumpers, shiny helmets, and oxygen masks. Our legs were stretched out in opposite directions, his covered in baggy gray slacks.

"It's like nothing you've ever seen, Caltrel," he eventually mumbled. "Like nothing I've ever seen."

I felt my expression harden.

"Hundreds of civilians were killed." His distant eyes tracked across the floor. "Thousands of Stormtroopers are still down there. The whole planet is being occupied."

My stomach twisted. "Vegas, do you understand what this means?"

His eyes, full of questions, went to my face.

"The Western Reaches are under the jurisdiction of the New Republic. This isn't just a skirmish with the Resistance. It's outright war with Coruscant."

His gaze became unfocused as he leaned his head against the metal shelf behind him. His voice was small.

"Will they send a fleet?"

"They don't have a fleet. It's against their laws. I doubt Rangers will come, not that they would stand a chance anyway. But they'll definitely alert the Resistance. Vegas, if we could turn on a news broadcast right now"—I gestured to an invisible holoscreen to my right—"everyone would be talking about this."

He was quiet for a long time. I watched his face, worried that I had said too much. His understanding of the Galaxy was much more narrow than mine. Even for me, determining the line between right and wrong was difficult.

"It's fine," he said, monotone. "This is what I trained for."

I looked away, eyes blazing. Not me.

Neither Ren nor Vegas were squeamish. Whatever they had witnessed had been gruesome, but I couldn't help but want to see it for myself. I returned to my quarters, anxiously wondering what state I would find him in.

The first thing I noticed was his cloak, shrugged off carelessly in the middle of the floor. I found his helmet nearby, making a trail to the locked door. I rubbed out the scuff where it had clunked to the ground. Turning it around in my hands, I gazed down at the dark visor that still held so many secrets. As I set both of them carefully on a chair, I noticed that his cloak had a fresh long tear, with the threads coming undone at the edges.

I ultimately decided against knocking on the door.

Hours passed.

He emerged after the droids dropped off dinner, presumably out of sheer physical need. Taken off guard, I rose from my seat at the table. His demeanor was the complete opposite of last night—his face was slack and expressionless, and his eyes were stormy and distant. He moved like he was in some kind of haze.

"Are you alright?" I breathed.

He sat heavily at the other end of the table and began eating without a word. Feeling like an intruder, I sank back down to my seat. I picked up my fork and took a bite of tasteless food, watching him as he ate much faster than me. I cleared my throat occasionally, desperate to fill the oppressive silence.

"It's war, then?" I murmured.

His eyes flashed to me, all danger and warning.

"War with who?" he snapped. "The New Republic is a circus."

A very wealthy and powerful circus, I wanted to say. My mind told me that now was not the time to challenge him. Instead, I mulled over how to diplomatically propose my request to see the planet. When he stood up and started walking to the bedroom, I twisted around in my seat.

"I want to come on the next incursion," I blurted out.

He froze.

"No."

"But I—"

"Caltrel," he growled.

I shrank back in my seat when he suddenly whirled around. He gripped the back of my chair and banged his fist on the table, causing its contents to rattle. Tilting my head back, I blinked nervously under his furious gaze. His voice was all rage.

"I'm focusing all my energy on finding the map to Skywalker so I don't have to play these stupid war games for Snoke."

I nodded.

With one final unyielding glare, he withdrew.

I showered and got in bed very early. Ren spent most of the night in the office, studying various planets on a desk-size holographic star chart. I watched the shades of blue, green, and red splay across the walls as he manipulated the holograms.

Eventually, I covered my face with a sheet and tried to fall asleep in earnest. As soon as I closed my eyes, the memory of the tender boy from last night appeared in my mind to haunt me.