The silence stretched too long. The room, dimly lit and buzzing with the soft hum of the decryption terminal, felt impossibly small.

Seth's chest felt tight, his pulse hammering erratically. Drea was here. Really here. Not a memory, not a dream, not a ghost of his past—but flesh and blood, standing a few feet away, looking at him like she wasn't sure if he was real either.

Mission watched the way Seth stared at this girl—Drea. The name meant little to her before. Now, it held weight. This was the person behind the lingering hesitation in Seth's voice that night outside the refresher. The one he hadn't meant to say out loud.

Mission shifted her weight, crossing her arms. "So," she said, breaking the tension. "You two know each other?"

Seth swallowed, dragging himself back to the present. "Uh—yeah. Yeah, we—we trained together." His voice wasn't quite steady yet. He turned back to Drea, who had barely blinked. "I… I thought you were still posted on Ord Mantell."

Drea let out a breathless, shaky laugh. "I was. I got transferred." Her fingers clenched at the hem of her sleeves, eyes never leaving his. "Seth… I thought you were dead."

Before he could process the words, Drea closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around him. Seth barely had time to react before instinct kicked in, and he wrapped his arms around her in return. It was automatic, familiar in a way that shouldn't have been after so much time.

Mission stiffened.

The embrace lasted just a few seconds, but that was long enough. When they pulled apart, Drea was still looking at him like she couldn't believe he was real. "I heard about the Endar Spire. Then Taris—" She let out a tight breath. "I spent weeks thinking you were gone."

Seth exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. It's… a long story."

"I want to hear all of it." Drea's expression softened, her voice full of warmth.

Mission shifted again. "Right. Well. That's great and all, but we do kinda have a job to do? Y'know, cracking into Sith encryption? Maybe we can save the happy reunion for later?"

Seth hesitated, torn between the past and the present. Finally, he nodded. "You're right. Mission, you still want to work on this together?"

Mission started to respond, but then caught the way Seth was still looking at Drea, his focus split between the task at hand and the girl who had just walked back into his life. She inhaled sharply, forcing her expression into something neutral. "You know what? I think I got this," she said, keeping her tone light. "You two probably have a lot to catch up on."

Seth frowned. "You sure?"

Mission waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah. Go ahead. I'll handle this. Besides, I don't need you hovering over my shoulder while I do all the hard work."

She turned back to the console before he could argue, fingers flying across the keys, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her casual attitude. She hesitated just long enough to add, "But you still owe me that pazaak rematch at the cantina tonight, right?"

Seth blinked, then a slow grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "Wouldn't miss it."

Mission nodded, keeping her focus locked on the screen. "Good. Don't be late."

Drea hesitated, glancing between them, before Seth finally nodded and stepped away.

For a while, there was only the sound of the terminal, the low hum of machinery, and the occasional beep from the decryption process.

But Mission could still feel Drea's eyes lingering on Seth. And she really didn't like the way Seth kept glancing back.

The ocean breeze rolled over Ahto City, sending ripples across the smooth surface of the water. The sun was dipping lower, the sky painted in streaks of orange and gold. Seth stood at the edge of a railing, hands braced against the cool metal, staring out at the horizon.

Drea stood beside him, arms crossed loosely. She studied him for a moment before speaking. "I still can't believe it's you."

Seth huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. "I'm still trying to believe it's you."

Drea nudged his arm lightly. "You owe me, you know."

He glanced at her. "For what?"

"For making me think you were dead for months. Do you know how miserable I was? I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep—I almost punched a superior officer when they told me to 'get over it.'"

Seth winced. "Yeah. I'm sorry. I should've tried to reach you."

Drea let out a sigh, running a hand through her hair. "You were in the middle of a warzone. I get it. But… it still sucked."

Seth looked down. "I really am sorry, Drea."

She gave him a sideways glance, her expression softening. "Yeah, well. I had to move forward. I didn't have a choice." She leaned against the railing beside him. "I got stationed here a little after everything went down. The work's dull, but it keeps me busy."

"You always hated boring assignments," Seth pointed out.

Drea laughed. "Still do. But I don't exactly get a say in where I'm stationed." She tilted her head, watching the way the light reflected off the waves. "I made friends, though. And I kept going. Because what else was I supposed to do?" She looked over at him, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "You were always the one who got to charge headfirst into action. I had to stay put and wonder if I'd ever get that comm saying you made it out alive."

Seth exhaled slowly. "Drea…"

She waved a hand. "I'm not mad. Not anymore, anyway. But, you know… it still hits me sometimes. Seeing you now? It brings back a lot."

He nodded, understanding. "I get that."

Drea was quiet for a moment before nudging him again. "So. You and Mission, huh?"

Seth's head snapped up. "What?"

Drea smirked. "Oh, please. I saw the way she looked at me. And the way you looked at her when you weren't looking at me." She cocked an eyebrow. "You've got it bad."

Seth groaned. "Can we not—"

"Seth." Drea turned fully toward him. "It's okay. If you've moved on, I mean it—I'm happy for you. I just hope you don't screw it up."

Seth hesitated, then exhaled. "I care about her a lot. But seeing you again… it's bringing up stuff I thought I buried."

Drea studied him for a long moment, then smiled gently. "You don't have to figure it out right now. Just… don't leave her waiting."

Something cold settled in Seth's gut. He checked the chrono on his wrist—

And his stomach dropped.

"The sunset—I was supposed to meet her an hour ago." He turned sharply, already moving. "Kriff—I gotta go."

Drea stepped back, hands up. "Go, go! I'll see you later!"

Seth didn't wait. He tore through the city, ignoring the annoyed glares of Selkath and Republic personnel as he ran. He didn't care. He needed to get to her.

But when he reached the cantina, he knew instantly—

He was too late.

Mission stood near the entrance, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. But her eyes—gods, her eyes—were tight with barely-contained hurt.

Seth swallowed hard, stepping forward. "Mish, I—"

She didn't even let him finish. Her voice was quiet, but it cut through him like a blade. "I waited long enough for you."

And with that, she turned and walked away.

Seth stood there, frozen in place, as the weight of what he'd just done settled over him like a crushing wave.

Mission didn't go straight to her bunk—she went to the engine room, the one place no one would bother her. The hum of the ship, the familiar scent of coolant and grease, should have been comforting. But nothing felt right.

She grabbed a hydrospanner and knelt beside the open panel near the fusion generator, needing something, anything, to keep her hands busy. The wires blurred in her vision as she worked, her grip too tight, her movements too rough. She barely registered the ache building in her fingers until the tool slipped from her grasp and clattered loudly to the floor.

Mission sucked in a sharp breath. Stupid. She wiped at her eyes angrily and reached for the spanner again, but her hands were shaking.

T3 beeped softly, rolling up beside her. The little droid tilted his head, scanning her with concern, then let out a questioning chirp.

"I'm fine," she muttered.

T3 gave an indignant series of beeps, clearly disagreeing.

Mission exhaled harshly, pushing back the lump in her throat. "I don't know why I care this much. We weren't together. He can do what he wants."

She said it like a fact, like something she believed. But the words felt hollow in her mouth.

T3 emitted another set of beeps, softer this time, like he was trying to comfort her.

Mission clenched her jaw. "It's not worth it. And I just… I need to stop feeling like this."

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the memories pressing at the edges of her mind—his stupid grin, the warmth of his arm around her shoulders, the way he'd always sought her out first after a mission. It was foolish to think those things mattered.

T3 nudged her arm gently, then let out a longer, drawn-out warble that almost sounded like a sigh. He rotated his dome slightly, the metal clicking softly as he observed her.

Her shoulders slumped. "I just thought…" She swallowed hard. "I don't know what I thought."

T3 let out a series of affirming beeps, inching closer.

Mission scoffed, a broken laugh escaping. "What, you think I should talk to him?" She shook her head. "Not this time, buddy. This time… I think I'm done."

She stared at the floor, watching as a single tear fell, darkening the durasteel panel beneath her. She let it fall. Let herself feel it. Just for a second.

Then she wiped her face roughly with the back of her sleeve and straightened. Enough.

T3 hesitated before rolling a little closer. He bumped gently against her side, letting out a low, steady chirp. She blinked down at him, and for the first time since she walked into the engine room, she let herself lean into the small comfort he offered. Just for a second.

When Seth finally came back to the ship, she didn't say a word to him.

And this time, she wasn't sure if she ever would again.

Seth had expected anger. Yelling. A confrontation that he could face head-on, something tangible to push back against. Instead, Mission gave him nothing.

Not silence. Not distance. Nothing.

When he stepped onto the Ebon Hawk, she didn't look at him. Didn't acknowledge him. Just brushed past without so much as a glance, disappearing into the women's dormitory before he could even open his mouth.

Seth lingered in the hallway, jaw tightening. He knocked once. Then again. "Mish?" No answer. "Look, I know I screwed up—can we just… can we talk?"

Still nothing.

The weight in his chest deepened. He hadn't even seen her face since the cantina. And maybe that was worse than whatever argument she could have thrown at him—because at least anger meant she still cared. This? This felt like she was already gone.

Hours later, he found himself in the galley, absently slapping together a ration bar sandwich, though he had no appetite. He wasn't even sure why he was making it—just that he needed something to do with his hands, something to keep the gnawing weight in his gut from crushing him completely.

The soft padding of footsteps behind him made his shoulders tense. Mission.

She walked past him like he wasn't even there, moving toward the caf machine with practiced ease. Seth turned, watching her. She moved mechanically, pouring the dark liquid into her mug, stirring in just a splash of cream. The same way she always did.

His throat was dry. "Carth, Bastila, and Juhani got the Sith spy to crack."

Mission didn't react. No flicker of acknowledgment. She just lifted the mug to her lips and took a slow sip.

Seth inhaled sharply, trying again. "We're breaking into the base tomorrow. You have my back, right?"

That got a response—but not the one he wanted. Mission set her mug down and finally looked at him.

Her brown eyes, usually so full of warmth, were empty.

"Someone else already has it."

Her voice was quiet. Even. Devastating.

Seth's stomach dropped. He opened his mouth, but she was already walking away, mug in hand, disappearing down the hall without another word.

He stood there, frozen, his hands limp at his sides.

For the first time since stepping onto the Ebon Hawk, he felt like he didn't belong there.

The next morning, the plan was set. Juhani on his left, Drea on his right, Bastila just ahead. A solid team.

Yet it felt completely empty.

Seth adjusted his gauntlets, glancing toward the loading ramp one last time. Mission should be here. She always was. Even when she was pissed at him, even when she had every reason to be mad, she was still there.

But not this time.

Bastila noticed his hesitation. "She made her choice," she said, not unkindly. "And so did you."

Seth let out a breath, nodding absently. He wasn't sure which choice she meant—the decision to see Drea, the unspoken expectation that Mission would understand, or the fact that he had let her walk away without a fight.

"You can still fix things," Bastila added, her voice softer, just for him. "If you want to."

Seth didn't answer. Not because he didn't want to, but because he wasn't sure how. Words had failed him before. What would change now?

He secured the last strap on his vambrace and straightened. "Let's move."

As they stepped off the ramp, the familiar weight of his lightsaber at his side felt heavier than usual. The mission was in front of him. But for the first time in a long time, he could feel the space left behind.