The door to their Upper City apartment had barely clicked shut before Mission launched herself at Seth, throwing her arms around his neck in a crushing hug.

"You killed it out there!" she exclaimed, her grin stretching from ear to ear. "I mean, I knew you had a shot, but you actually won—like, totally proved everyone wrong, put the Vulkars to shame, made Brejik look like a total idiot—"

Seth winced slightly, the pressure of her embrace pressing into the hastily-dressed wound on his ribs, but he laughed anyway. "Thanks, Mish," he said, patting her back. "Though I gotta say, maybe we save the celebratory bear hugs for when I'm not full of bruises?"

She pulled away with a snicker. "Fine, fine. But seriously, swoop champion? You know what that means, right?"

Seth smirked. "That I can charge double for autoprints?"

Mission snorted. "That everybody on this planet knows your name now. So, hotshot, how's it feel to be famous?"

"Not bad," Seth admitted, stretching his sore shoulder. "Feels like a good time to celebrate, maybe grab some nerfbur—"

"No."

Bastila's voice cut through the moment like a vibroblade.

The room fell silent.

Seth immediately straightened, posture snapping back into military precision as he turned to face her.

She stood near the center of the room, arms folded, eyes sharp. Her presence alone was enough to suffocate any trace of levity.

"There is no time for celebrating," she said, tone clipped. "The swoop race was a means to an end. We have more pressing concerns—like getting off this planet before the Sith track us down."

Seth nodded immediately. "Yes, ma'am. Any ideas, ma'am?"

Bastila's brow furrowed. "You mean to tell me you've been on this planet for nearly a week, and you still don't have an escape route?"

Carth exhaled slowly, his fingers drumming against his arm where they were crossed. He chose his words carefully.

"We've been trying," he said evenly. "Taris isn't exactly friendly to off-worlders right now. Between the Sith occupation and the quarantine, no one is getting off this rock without serious firepower—or a hell of a lucky break."

Bastila's gaze hardened. "And you expected that lucky break to simply fall into your lap?"

Carth's jaw tightened, but he kept his tone measured. "No, but I did expect to have more options by now. Turns out, winning a swoop race didn't exactly grant us VIP access to the nearest hyperlane."

Seth remained silent, standing at attention. He wasn't about to get between them.

Mission, however, was not restrained.

"Oh, excuse us, Your Highness," she said, throwing her arms wide. "Guess we should've taken the luxury route to rescuing you. Maybe had a couple of Sith troopers carry you out of the Vulkars' base on a throne while we sipped fancy Tarisian wine—"

"Mission," Carth muttered in warning.

Mission rolled her eyes. "Just saying. Could maybe try some gratitude."

Bastila drew in a slow breath, visibly reigning herself in. "I am grateful," she said, though the words sounded like they pained her. "But this mission is far from over. And if I'm to take charge—"

"Whoa, whoa, hold up." Carth's tone remained calm, but there was a quiet steel underneath it now. "Take charge?"

Bastila blinked. "Yes. As the ranking officer, I am—"

"—New to command," Carth finished smoothly. His voice wasn't mocking, just pointed. "Look, I respect the Jedi. You've got abilities I'll never understand. But I've been leading troops in real battle for years, Bastila. And no offense, but I don't recall seeing you at the front lines when the Sith hit Telos."

Something flashed in Bastila's expression, but she didn't snap back. She lifted her chin. "The Jedi serve where we're needed."

Carth tilted his head slightly. "Exactly. And right now, you need us."

A tense silence hung between them.

Then, after a beat—

"I do," Bastila admitted.

Carth nodded, satisfied. He wasn't trying to undermine her, but she needed to know—this wasn't just a Jedi mission anymore.

"We're in agreement, then," he said. "We need a ship. We need a way past the blockade. Those are the two objectives."

Bastila's jaw tightened, but she nodded. "Agreed."

Mission smirked. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Bastila shot her a glare, then folded her arms, shifting her weight as if steadying herself. "Then we are agreed. We need to find a way off this planet"

Mission snorted, flopping onto the nearest cot. "Wow. Groundbreaking revelation, there."

Bastila narrowed her eyes. "Do you have something to contribute, Miss Vao?"

Mission pushed herself up on her elbows. "Yeah, actually. Y'all keep talking about escaping Taris like it's one big problem, but it's actually two. First, you gotta get your hands on a ship. Second, you gotta slip past the blockade without getting your asses blown out of the sky."

Seth tilted his head. "That's… actually a really solid breakdown."

Mission grinned. "You're welcome."

Bastila's lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded. "Agreed. Very… astute."

Mission beamed smugly.

Seth, arms crossed, considered. "We've got our end goals, just like when we were looking for you, Commander. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that plans don't mean much when you're up against a Sith-occupied warzone."

Bastila arched a brow. "You'd rather operate without a strategy?"

Seth shrugged. "I'm saying that when we needed to get into the Lower City, we figured it out. When we needed to get into the Vulkar base, we figured it out. When we needed to win the swoop race, we figured it out. If we focus on one problem at a time, I bet we'll figure this out, too."

Bastila considered that for a moment. "I trust that the Force will reveal our path in time."

Carth exhaled. "Right. And in the meantime, we actively look for leads instead of just waiting around for destiny to knock on the door."

Seth grinned. "Look at that. We're all getting along already."

Bastila sighed, rubbing her temple. "Let's just get to work."

The apartment was too small. Too quiet.

Carth and Bastila were still talking in low, clipped voices, trying to hash out the details of their next moves. Zaalbar, ever the patient Wookiee, was hunched over some new gadget he was piecing together from the scraps she and Seth had brought back on their scavenging runs.

Mission felt twitchy.

She needed air.

Stepping out onto the apartment's modest excuse for a balcony, she spotted Seth already out there, leaning against the railing, arms folded as he stared out at the sprawling skyline of the Upper City.

She hesitated for only a second before joining him, elbows resting on the rail, chin in her hands.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Mission liked that about him. Some people felt the need to fill the silence, but Seth was comfortable in it.

It made her comfortable too.

"You don't have to stay, you know."

His voice was soft but steady.

Mission blinked, turning toward him. "What?"

"You did what you agreed to," Seth said, still watching the city. "And more. You don't owe us anything. If you wanna go back to your life, we won't stop you."

Mission stared at him, waiting for the punchline. Some kind of joke.

But he wasn't joking.

She huffed a breath, shaking her head. "You really don't know me that well yet, do you?"

Seth turned slightly, one brow raised. "Explain."

She stretched out her legs, exhaling sharply. "You heard Kandon Ark back in the Vulkar base. I spent years trying to get the Beks to take me seriously, 'cause it felt like the only place I could go. But let's be real—I was never really one of them."

She hadn't meant to say that last part out loud.

But now that it was out there, she didn't take it back.

For years, she'd told herself that one day, she'd wear Hidden Bek colors, that they'd see her, that she'd finally belong.

And yet—fighting alongside Seth and Carth and Big Z had felt more natural than anything she'd ever done.

The realization had snuck up on her.

"It took all this," she gestured vaguely, "helping you guys, running around on this crazy mission—to realize that. Taris is home, sure. But it's not all there is. And maybe…" she hesitated, then shrugged. "Maybe I want to see what else is out there."

She expected Seth to say something cocky, maybe tease her for going all philosophical on him.

Instead, he nodded, considering. Then, after a beat—

"Well, I've got an apartment on Coruscant that could use someone to check in on it."

Mission froze.

"What?"

"When my tour's up, I still gotta have a place to land," Seth said. "It's nothing fancy, but if you and Big Z need a home base while you're running around the stars, it's yours."

Mission blinked, hard. Not because she was surprised—okay, maybe a little surprised—but because no one had ever made a gesture like that for her.

She was used to fending for herself. To taking what she could get.

But Seth just… offered. Like it was normal. Like it was just what you did for people you cared about.

Her throat felt tight.

"I'd really like that," she admitted, her voice quieter than she meant it to be.

Seth grinned, nudging her lightly. "Good. Just don't mess with my stuff."

Mission snorted. "No promises."

The silence that followed felt different.

Not empty.

Not restless.

Just right.

For the first time in her life, Mission felt like she wasn't just running toward something—she was running toward something.

The first day, they had hope.

It wasn't that they expected to find a clear escape route overnight—but at least they had momentum. They asked questions, shook down bartenders, slicers, and mercs. Looked for anyone who had connections to smuggling rings or ships.

The second day, that hope started to crack.

Everything led to a dead end. Even the shadiest dealers in the Lower City wanted nothing to do with getting past the Sith blockade. Too dangerous, too many disappearances.

Carth, who never liked standing still, grew more impatient. "If we had access to Republic intel, we'd already be off this planet."

Bastila, ever the Jedi, told him to have patience.

Carth did not.

The third day, their searches became routine.

Seth and Mission worked the streets, bouncing from cantinas to cantina, asking questions, eavesdropping. Mission had a way of charming people—a well-placed joke here, an exasperated sigh there. Seth mostly watched her work, impressed.

But even Mission was starting to feel the weight of failure. "People here are too scared to even talk about sneaking past the blockade," she muttered to Seth as they left another bar empty-handed. "Even the ones I know."

Seth had no words of comfort. Just a small shrug, because what else was new?

The fourth day, the cracks turned to fractures.

Bastila and Carth's arguments became less restrained.

"We can't just wait for the Force to hand us a solution, Bastila."

"We aren't waiting, Carth. We're searching. Or are you so quick to dismiss what you don't understand?"

"It's not about understanding, it's about reality. If you want to trust in the Force, fine. But I trust in my own experience."

Seth had long since stopped paying attention to their bickering.

Mission, not so much. "I swear, if those two don't kill each other, I might have to do it myself."

The fifth day, they felt stuck.

Zaalbar, the only one not outwardly frustrated, kept himself busy. Every night when they returned, he had something new on the table—a blaster he'd modified, a reworked datapad, an old swoop part repurposed into a tool. He never said much, but it was clear.

He hated waiting as much as they did.

That evening, as Seth sat on the floor, mindlessly running a cloth over his blaster for the tenth time, he sighed. "We're missing something."

Mission, half-laying on the cot next to him, huffed. "Yeah, like a way off this rock."

The knock came moments later.

Seth looked up. Mission frowned. Carth, already at the door, pulled it open.

A Twi'lek messenger stood there, panting, like he'd just run across half the district. His sharp gaze flicked to Seth.

"You," the Twi'lek said between breaths. "You're the Taris Swoop Champion."

Seth's fingers tightened around his blaster.

"Who wants to know?"

The Twi'lek hesitated, then lowered his voice.

"I have a message," he said. "From Canderous Ordo."

The Upper City was quieter at night.

It wasn't truly silent—Taris never was—but the neon-lit streets had a different kind of pulse after dark. The steady hum of distant speeders, the occasional flicker of an advertisement, the low murmur of voices in the alleys.

Seth walked alongside Bastila, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, gaze flicking around out of habit. They weren't expecting trouble, but Taris had a way of surprising people.

"Canderous Ordo has been watching you."

"He knows what you're looking for. He wants a meeting."

"Cantina. Upper City. Tonight."

Seth wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what this was—a trap, a test, or a setup.

But it was something. And after days of nothing, that was enough reason to check it out.

Bastila had insisted on coming with him, and for once, Carth hadn't argued.

"If it's a Mandalorian, I don't like it," Carth had muttered. "But I'd rather you have a Jedi watching your back than be walking into this alone."

Bastila, hood drawn up, walked with purpose, every step measured. Seth had gotten used to her presence over the last few days—her crisp, calculated demeanor, the way she always seemed half a step ahead of everyone else. She had been quiet most of the walk, but Seth could feel her eyes on him, like she was studying him.

Finally, she spoke.

"You're quite remarkable, you know."

Seth blinked, thrown off. "I, uh… thanks?"

Bastila tilted her head slightly. "You've survived the impossible—more than once. Your instincts have guided you across an occupied city, through gang territories, into a swoop race you had no right to win… and yet, you succeeded. Every time."

Seth shrugged uncomfortably. "I mean, I had a solid team. A lot of that was just luck."

Bastila's gray eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Was it?"

Seth hesitated.

She took a slow breath. "Has it never occurred to you that your instincts may be something more than simple intuition?"

He stopped walking. The question hit him strangely—like a puzzle piece snapping into place, but upside down.

"I… I don't know what you mean," he admitted.

Bastila turned to fully face him. "You don't believe in the Force?"

Seth rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean, I know it's real. I've seen Jedi do things no one else can. But that's… them. It's never had anything to do with me."

Bastila studied him for a long moment. "And yet," she said, softly, carefully, "the Jedi believe the Force has a will. That it guides certain people together for a reason."

Seth shifted uncomfortably. "And that reason was what? So I could win a swoop race?"

A small, amused breath escaped her. "No. But perhaps the Force has been guiding you longer than you realize."

Seth's mind raced, trying to process what she was saying.

He thought back to the way he'd always felt things before they happened. How, in combat, his body would move before his mind even caught up. How sometimes, he just knew the right choice before he even had a chance to think about it.

He'd always written it off as luck, training, instinct.

But what if it wasn't?

His mouth was dry. "So… what? You're saying I have the Force?"

Bastila's expression remained measured. "I'm saying that it's a possibility."

Seth felt like the ground beneath him shifted just a little.

"I… I don't…" He trailed off, unsure of what to even say to that.

Bastila sighed, then offered him a small, rare smile. "It isn't for me to decide. The Jedi Council will have much to say on the matter, I am sure, when we reach them. But it is… interesting to consider."

Seth was still processing as they resumed walking, his mind reeling at the thought.

The conversation left a weight in his chest.

A weight he wasn't sure he wanted to acknowledge yet.

But before he could dwell on it longer, the cantina loomed ahead.

And waiting inside was Canderous Ordo. Seth swept his gaze over the crowd as they entered— The usual mix of off-duty Sith, smugglers, and spiceheads loitered at the bar and pazaak tables.

But he didn't have to look hard to find the man they were looking for.

The Mandalorian had a presence.

He sat near the back, arms folded, leaning into his seat like he owned the place. Even in the hazy light, the scars along his weathered face stood out, a testament to countless battles fought—and won.

His eyes locked onto Seth instantly.

Seth exhaled. Great.

Bastila, poised as ever, moved beside him, her voice low. "He's been expecting you."

"Yeah," Seth muttered. "Figured that much."

As they approached, Canderous didn't move. He just smirked, slow and knowing.

"You're shorter than I expected," he said, voice like gravel.

Seth arched a brow. "And you're uglier than I expected. Guess we're both disappointed." The retort came out of his mouth before he could stop it, and he snapped his mouth shut the moment his brain caught up to tell him that pissing off a Mandalorian was not at the top of his list of best ideas.

Canderous, however, simply barked a laugh. "Oh, I'm gonna like you, kid."

Bastila took a measured seat across from him. Seth followed suit, keeping his posture casual but ready.

The older man leaned forward. "I've been watching you."

Seth tensed. "That's not creepy at all."

Canderous pressed on, ignoring him. "Saw you at the swoop race. Saw you in the brawl after. You handled yourself better than most men twice your age."

"Cut to the chase," Bastila deadpanned. "Why are we here?"

The Mandalorian's grin widened. "Straight to business. I respect that, gorgeous." He took a slow drag from his cigar before exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. "You want off this planet. I can help with that."

Bastila's expression remained unreadable. "How?"

Canderous took his time answering.

Finally, he said, smoothly, "I work for Davik Kang."

Seth's stomach tightened.

He'd learned enough from Mission about Taris' criminal underworld to know that was not the name he wanted to hear.

Canderous smirked at their reactions. "Relax. I don't care about Davik's spice trade or his petty grudges. What I do care about is getting off this rock before the Sith turn it into slag."

"And you have a plan?" Bastila asked, voice carefully neutral.

"A solid one," Canderous said. "So here's the thing - I want out, you want out, everybody wants out, right? The difference here is that I have a way to get my hands on a ship with plenty of room to spare in its cargo hold. I just need a little something in return."

Seth crossed his arms. "And that's where we come in."

Canderous nodded. "Information retrieval. A job I think you're perfectly suited for. You see, no ship makes it past Taris' atmosphere without the Sith departure codes, and they're locked away in the military base. I figure if you're crazy enough to race the way you did, and you can handle yourself as well as you did in the brawl afterwards, breaking in there and snatching those codes should be a piece of cake. Breaking in won't be easy—but lucky for you, I've got a key."

He let the sentence hang, like he wanted them to ask.

Bastila sighed. "What's the catch?"

Canderous grinned. "A droid."

Seth blinked. "Excuse me?"

"There's a slicer droid being held at Janice Nall's shop in the Upper City," Canderous explained. "A very expensive, top-of-the-line T3 unit, custom-built to crack Sith encryption. Davik was gonna buy it to hack into the base himself, but I'm thinking…" He trailed off, letting the suspense hang for a moment just long enough for Bastila to roll her eyes at his theatrics before continuing, "I'd rather get to those codes first."

Seth narrowed his eyes. "You're betraying Davik."

Canderous shrugged. "Call it what you want. I'm just a contractor."

"And you're just handing this to us?" Bastila asked, skeptical.

"I scratch your back, you scratch mine," Canderous said smoothly. "I help you get off Taris, and you don't leave without me."

Seth sat back, processing. "So let me get this straight. You want us to steal Davik's droid, break into a heavily armed Sith base, steal the only thing letting ships leave the planet, and then… what, you take us to this mystery ship that we're just supposed to trust that you have on hand?"

Canderous nodded. "That about covers it."

Seth let out a slow breath. "Wow. And I thought I was reckless."

Canderous grinned. "You haven't seen reckless yet, kid."

Bastila exchanged a look with Seth.

It was insane.

It was impossible.

It was the only real shot they had.

Seth sighed, uncrossing his arms and placing his palms against the table as he leaned forward. "Alright. Where's this droid?"

Canderous tossed a credit chip onto the table. "Two thousand should cover it. Go to Janice Nall's shop, tell her you're there for T3-M4."

Seth's jaw dropped. "Two bantha-spacing thousand?"

Canderous leaned forward, grabbed the collar of Seth's jacket, and hauled him partway across the table. "Unless you want every Sith soldier in this bar clued in to our plan, I'd recommend keeping your voice down," he growled. "I'll give you the money, but you better come back with that T3 unit, or the only way you leave this planet is in a body bag."

Seth froze.

Then, Canderous grinned, released him, and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Good talk."

Seth stared at him. "Yeah. Great talk."

Bastila rose smoothly. "We'll be in touch."

Canderous gave them a lazy salute. "I'll be waiting."

As they exited the cantina, Seth exhaled. "Well, that wasn't terrifying at all."

Bastila ignored him, already focused on the next step. "Come. Let's retrieve the droid."

Seth sighed, shaking his head.

"If I make it off this planet alive, I swear, I'm gonna need a vacation."