Seth's pulse slammed into his ribs.

Not again. Not here.

Calo Nord was supposed to be dead.

The bounty hunter stood with the same eerie stillness Seth remembered, his hand casually resting on his holster, completely at ease—as if they were old friends meeting again, not enemies in a standoff.

Canderous was already moving. His repeater came up in one smooth motion, his snarl more dangerous than any weapon. "Not many men take a chance at a rematch with an Ordo, Calo. Those who do rarely end up in one piece."

Nord's response was nonchalant, almost amused. "As convenient as it is to finally take you out, Canderous, this isn't about you. This is about your Jedi friends and that Republic pilot. I'm just here to collect."

Seth's mouth was dry. His legs refused to move.

Calo wasn't bluffing. He wasn't posturing. He had already decided they were dead.

You have to move. You have to do something.

He forced himself to breathe, to smile, to speak. "Whoa, whoa, Calo! I don't know who's paying you, but—hey! Mission's been killing it at the Pazaak den." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, voice a little too loud, a little too forced. "I'm sure we could outpay your employer."

Mission's burning glare hit the back of his head. "Hey! That's my money you're talking about!"

Calo tilted his head slightly, like he was considering it. Then he smirked. "Cute. But I don't think you can outpay Darth Malak. And I'm not one to cross a Sith Lord."

Seth's stomach plummeted. vBefore he could react, a blaster bolt screamed through the air.

A jumpy Rodian had fired without warning.

Seth barely had time to react—his lightsaber ignited in a flash of blue, and he swung up, deflecting the bolt just inches from his face. It slammed into the glass wall behind him, leaving a scorch mark.

"Dammit, Feemas!" Calo snarled.

Then he shot the Rodian in the head. The body stood for a second too long, blood misting the air before it collapsed face-first at Seth's feet.

Seth stumbled backward, heart pounding.

Calo shrugged, spinning his blaster back into its holster. "You're welcome. Idiots like that give mercs a bad name."

The room was silent for just a beat.

"Now," Nord continued, "where were we? Oh, right. Your turn to die."

Blasterfire erupted.

Seth crouched low, lightsaber up, reading the battle like instinct. Calo's mercs were sloppy, but plentiful. The bounty hunter himself? That was the real problem. He fired with surgical precision, every shot designed to kill or corner them. Seth wasn't stupid enough to charge forward. This wasn't a fight that could be won with aggression.

Bastila's golden blades whirled as she deflected shot after shot. Canderous had dropped into a practiced stance, laying down a constant spray of covering fire. Mission was moving between cover, picking her shots carefully.

The hallway was too narrow to maneuver well—the worst kind of fight. They were trapped.

Seth dodged left, keeping himself between Mission and the fight. The moment she peeked out, her blaster found its mark—one merc dropped. Bastila cut down another.

A second of silence. A pause.

Then Calo fired again.

Bastila twisted away, but Seth wasn't as fast. A sharp, white-hot burn seared just below his shoulder.

His whole body locked up. The world narrowed. His jacket smoked where the bolt had burned through.

"Seth!" Mission's voice was distant, but sharp.

Adrenaline flooded his system, numbing the pain for a second. He gripped his saber tighter, forcing himself to keep moving. "It just nicked me, Mish!" He thrust his free hand forward, sending a powerful Force push straight at Calo's position. The impact sent Nord and his two remaining mercs crashing backwards. A durasteel crate flipped through the air and landed atop one of the mercenaries with a sickening crunch.

Three down. Two to go.

Before he could move, Mission yanked him backward behind cover.

"What—"

"You need a medpac, now." Her voice was firm, layered with command. Not asking—demanding.

"Mission, it barely—"

"Seth, that bolt went through your arm. It didn't 'nick' you." She was already pulling at his jacket, her hands brushing over his collarbone. He shivered.

She scowled. "Don't you dare get all hot and bothered over me patching you up. I won't allow it. This is medical, not personal. Canderous! Medpac!"

The Mandalorian barely looked up. "Busy, kid."

Mission whipped around and grabbed him by his vest.

"Listen here, you di'kut nerf-herder! Take your mind off your senseless thirst for revenge for one moment and get me a damn medpac or Force help me, those blaster mods I promised you are going to Carth!"

Canderous snarled, but tossed a medpac at her without argument. Mission caught it and immediately tore the covering with her teeth. Seth flinched as she jabbed it into his arm without warning.

"Ow—"

"Don't move."

Seth's breath came fast, body burning as the medpac worked. Mission stood, readied her blaster, then shot him one last glare.

"Stay put. If you try to get up, I will personally knock you out."

Seth watched her move back into the fray, sweat glistening on blue skin, her form lean, sharp, dangerous. His breath caught. She was beautiful. She was deadly.

And there was no way he was letting her fight alone.

Pain be damned, he pushed himself to his feet. He raised his saber just as Calo Nord turned his blaster on Mission. "Oh, no you don't," Seth growled. He moved.

His saber snapped up, deflecting the bolt with perfect precision—

—straight back into the merc who fired it.

One left.

Bastila didn't hesitate—she closed the distance, golden blade flashing—

Calo Nord gasped as the saber pierced his abdomen.

A final silence. A ragged breath.

Canderous' scream shattered the moment—his repeater roared to life, riddling Nord's convulsing body with blaster fire until it was beyond recognition.

No one stopped him.

No one said a word.

Mission turned back to Seth, eyes dark. She wasn't just mad. She was shaken.

"I told you not to move."

Her voice was sharp, but not as steady as she wanted it to be.

Seth exhaled, his breath still uneven. "I'm fine."

She scoffed, shaking her head. "You say that like I didn't just watch you almost get your head blasted off. Again."

Her fingers ghosted over his arm, brushing the torn edge of his jacket where the blaster bolt had burned through. She wasn't touching the wound, but he still felt it.

Seth swallowed hard, watching her face. She looked like she wanted to say something. But she didn't. Instead, she pulled back quickly, as if she had touched something scalding.

"You were lucky this time," she muttered, gripping her blaster a little too tightly. "Next time, don't count on it."

Seth should have let it go. Should have nodded, played it off, made some joke to ease the tension. But then he saw it.

For just a fraction of a second—real fear in her eyes.

She looked away fast, turning back toward the others, back toward safety. Back toward the walls she was trying to rebuild.

And Seth let her go. For now.

Seth rolled his shoulder experimentally, feeling the dull ache still lingering beneath the layer of freshly healed muscle. The medpac had done its job well, sealing the worst of the wound, leaving only a faint bruise and a scorched hole in his jacket as the only reminders of how close he'd come to taking a blaster bolt straight through. Kolto was miraculous. He didn't know how it worked—some biological process involving ocean growth and careful refinement, or something equally complicated—but he did know one thing: the Republic would crumble without it.

That fact felt heavier as he gazed through the reinforced viewport, watching the dark, endless water beyond the station. Somewhere out there, the real objective of this mission lay hidden beneath miles of ocean. The Star Map. The key to the galaxy's future.

And they were no closer to finding it than when they started.

He could see the same frustration settling in Bastila, her expression tense as she drummed her fingers against her lightsaber hilt, barely restraining her impatience. Even Canderous, usually unfazed, let out an aggravated exhale. The station felt like a maze with no exit.

The Mandalorian finally broke the silence with a sharp grunt. "Any of you actually know where we're going? Because it sure as hell feels like we're wandering in circles."

The irritation in his voice was thick enough to cut with a vibroblade. They'd been moving through the humid, dimly lit halls for what felt like an eternity, stepping over one too many Selkath corpses along the way. The carnage was clear—Calo Nord and his mercenaries had purged the back half of the station before ever meeting them.

Bastila whirled on him, exasperated. "Well, what do you suggest, Canderous? Because unless you can hold your breath for several minutes at a time, I don't see how we can just waltz out the airlock and hope to stumble across the Star Map."

"Princess," Canderous said, folding his arms, "this is a Republic research station. There's no way they got from section to section by holding their breath. There's got to be another way to reach the lower levels."

Seth hesitated before speaking. He knew that no Jedi Master would approve of his amusement, but deep down, he always found something entertaining about the never-ending battle of wills between Bastila and Canderous. He pushed aside the twisted sense of enjoyment and cut in before the Mandalorian and the Jedi could go another round.

"The Selkath can breathe underwater, but the Republic scientists couldn't. If they worked down here, they had to have envirosuits stored somewhere."

Bastila frowned, already analyzing. "The Selkath scientists outnumbered Republic personnel five to one. Most of the humans either fled or are unaccounted for. The only bodies we've seen belong to the mercenaries—if the Republic scientists left, they likely took their envirosuits with them."

"So you're saying we're stuck?" Canderous deadpanned.

"I'm saying we need to examine our options," Bastila shot back.

Canderous let out an aggravated groan. "Princess, if we had options, we wouldn't have been wandering aimlessly for the past half hour!"

"Oh, shut up!" Mission snapped.

Seth turned, slightly taken aback—not just at the sheer volume of her voice, but at the intensity in her expression. She looked tired, frustrated, and utterly fed up.

"Canderous, your negativity isn't helping. Bastila, neither is your indecisiveness. We came this far, and we can't afford to turn back now. The Star Map is here—I refuse to believe we've hit a dead end. So how about we act like the team the Jedi Council believed we were when they sent us on this mission, and actually figure something out?"

Silence.

Canderous let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand down his face. "Alright, kid. Fair point. I don't actually think we're stuck. Just sick of wasting time."

Bastila tilted her chin slightly, a subtle sign of reluctant agreement. "You're right, Mission. This conversation is pointless unless we decide on a course of action."

Seth watched Mission in admiration. The way she stood there, resolute, unshaken. It hit him all at once—how different things would be if she had been the one born with a connection to the Force instead of him. If Mission had been the one with the visions, the one carrying the weight of this mission, the one with the burden of destiny.

She would have been better at it.

She was more logical, more tactful, more inspiring than he could ever hope to be. He was certain that if Mission were in charge, he'd follow her to the ends of the galaxy.

Then again, maybe he already would.

Canderous exhaled sharply, dragging him from his thoughts. "Let's stop standing around and start searching for an answer."

It was then that a soft whimper echoed through the room.

The party snapped to alert.

Seth's fingers were already curling around the hilt of his lightsaber before he even realized he'd drawn it. His heart pounded as his eyes swept the room. No one had seen where the noise came from.

Bastila extended a hand and motioned for him to stand down. "Put it away," she murmured. "We don't want to frighten them."

Seth took a slow breath, releasing his grip. "Hello?" Bastila called out, her voice calm but firm. "Who's there?"

The response came in a weak, stuttering voice. "You… you don't sound like fishies."

Seth's brow furrowed. Fishies?

Bastila seemed to piece it together faster, her expression shifting. "We're not. We're human. We were sent here to investigate what happened to the scientists."

A frantic, nervous energy filled the air. The voice started muttering, low and panicked. "No, no, no… More of them? No, no, no, nonononono! The fishies have gone crazy! They killed everyone! They're going to kill you too! Not me, though. No, no. I'm safe in my box."

Mission's eyes darted toward the sound. "He's in the storage locker," she whispered.

Bastila stepped forward, her voice shifting to a gentler, almost soothing tone. "The Selkath—" she hesitated before correcting herself. "The fishies are dead. They aren't a threat anymore. Why don't you come out of there, and we can talk about what happened here?"

"No, no," the voice insisted. "Could be a fishy trick. I will stay in my box. Safe and sound."

Seth exchanged a glance with the others. Canderous exhaled. "Great. A lunatic."

Bastila shot him a glare, then turned back toward the storage unit. "Please, we just need to ask you some questions."

The locker rattled slightly, and for the first time, the voice dropped to a whisper. "They ran away. Tried to get to the airlock, but the fishies got them. Tore holes in their suits. Only Kono and Sami got away. Everyone else…" The voice cracked. "I ran to my box. They didn't get me. They won't get Krem."

Seth felt a cold weight settle in his gut. The room felt smaller. The air heavier. He adjusted his stance, his hand hovering just above his saber hilt. The voice from the locker was frantic, uneven, and something about it made his skin crawl.

"Krem," Bastila called out, her voice patient but firm. "We're here to help. But we need to know what happened here."

"You can't help!" The locker rattled slightly, and Seth could hear the tremor in Krem's breath. "The fishies killed everyone! Tore through the suits! Bit through them! You think you can survive? No, no, no. Not out there. Not in the dark."

Canderous scoffed under his breath. "He's cracked."

Bastila ignored him. "Krem, listen to me. We aren't the enemy. You said two scientists escaped—Kono and Sami? Do you know where they went?"

Silence. Then, a shaky exhale. "The other side of the facility. By the alien structure and the new harvester. But no one gets past the sharks."

Seth's breath hitched slightly. Alien structure. The vision. The Star Map.

Bastila had clearly reached the same conclusion. She straightened subtly, her focus sharpening. "Then we need to get there. Do you know if there are any functional envirosuits left?"

"Mine. My suit is safe in here. No fishies got to it. New. Shiny. No holes."

Mission folded her arms. "Then we need to borrow it."

Krem made a strangled noise. "No! No, no, no, no! I stay in my box! You can't take my box!"

Bastila took a measured breath. Seth could feel her reaching out through the Force, trying to soothe Krem's fractured, frenzied mind.

"Krem," she said softly, her voice taking on an almost melodic quality. "You'll be safe when you open the locker."

Seth felt the shift in the air—the slight pressure of Jedi persuasion. He instinctively extended his own focus, reinforcing Bastila's effort.

A long, hesitant pause.

The locker clicked open.

The door creaked as it swung outward, revealing a gaunt, pale man hunched in the corner, his arms wrapped around his knees. He flinched at the light, his eyes darting wildly over the group before settling on Bastila.

"More," he whispered. "There are more. I don't like it. I don't like it. I want to be back in my box."

"We won't keep you," Bastila promised gently. "Just your suit. That's all we need."

Krem hesitated before nudging the envirosuit forward with his boot, piece by piece. Bright yellow plating, fully intact. "Okay. Take it. Now shut the door."

Bastila gave him a small nod. "Thank you, Krem. The Republic will send help for you soon."

"Just shut the door."

Seth did as asked, pressing the door closed with a quiet hiss of finality.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then Mission exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. "That was… deeply unsettling."

Bastila turned the helmet over in her hands, inspecting the seals. "It was necessary. Now, let's see who can wear this."

Her gaze landed on Seth.

"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered. Seth stared at the envirosuit like it was an execution order.

Bright yellow. Bulky. Sealed and pressurized against the crushing weight of the ocean outside.

And it had to fit perfectly.

Bastila ran a critical eye over the suit, then the crew. She already knew the answer. "It has to be the same size and build as Krem," she said finally, testing the weight of the helmet. "Otherwise, it won't seal properly."

Mission glanced at her lekku, already knowing the answer but trying anyway. "I mean, maybe if I—"

"No." Bastila cut her off, shaking her head. "The helmet won't fit over your lekku."

Canderous crossed his arms. "And I'm too built. Not squeezing into that thing."

Bastila exhaled. "And I don't have the muscle mass for a proper seal."

That left one option.

Her gaze landed on Seth again. He let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess that makes me the lucky winner."

Minutes later, Seth hand managed to get himself inside the bulky suit with no amount of ease.

Mission wasn't smiling. She had been tense since Krem's reveal, but now as she stood directly before him, she looked… worse.

She double-checked the suit's straps, her hands precise, efficient. Too focused. Too careful. Like she needed the task to keep her grounded. Seth watched her movements, something twisting in his chest. "Mish—"

"Just making sure it's secure," she said quickly, not meeting his eyes. "Can't have you drowning before you even get out the door."

He could feel the walls she was putting up. Could see how tightly she was keeping herself in check. And he hated it.

Bastila placed a hand on his upper arm, drawing his focus. "If Kono and Sami are still alive, they're the only ones who can confirm the Star Map's location. We need you to find them, Seth. And make it back in one piece." She hesitated. Then, in an uncharacteristic moment of warmth, she offered the ghost of a smile. "That's an order, Private."

Seth huffed a quiet laugh. "Didn't think I took orders from you anymore, ma'am."

Bastila smirked. "This one, you're following."

Canderous clapped a hand on Seth's back. "Good luck, kid."

Seth nodded, lifting the helmet—then hesitated. Mission still hadn't looked at him.

He lowered the helmet slightly. "Mish."

She tensed, then sighed through her nose, finally meeting his gaze. And for a split second, she wasn't holding back. Worry. Fear. A thousand unspoken words.

"We still have a lot to talk about," she murmured. "And I don't know where we stand. Just… promise me we'll talk when you get back. Okay?"

Seth softened. "We'll talk. I promise."

She nodded, steeling herself. "Good."

But as soon as he moved to pull the helmet on, she reached for his wrist and yanked him toward her.

Then she kissed him.

It was brief, impulsive, desperate. A collision of fear and frustration and something she refused to name.

Her heart was pounding. What the hell am I doing?

By the time she pulled away, her cheeks were already burning. She opened her mouth, almost as if to take it back, to deflect, to throw up a wall—but there were no words that made sense.

"Get that Star Map," she muttered instead. "And come back."

Seth could barely think straight, his heart hammering against his ribs. He managed a stunned nod.

Mission swallowed hard, retreating a step. "I'm still mad at you, by the way."

His lips quirked. "I'll keep that in mind."

She turned away before she could say anything else.

Seth sealed his helmet with a sharp hiss, his voice distorted through the vocoder. "See you soon." Then the airlock opened, and he stepped into the deep.

Mission let out a slow breath, then felt Bastila's gaze on her. She winced. "You're not gonna give me a lecture, are you?"

Bastila shrugged. "I could. But what would be the point?"

Mission frowned. "I thought Jedi weren't supposed to—"

"We're not. It's foolish." Bastila shook her head, her expression unreadable. "But sometimes… Seth needs motivation beyond what I can give him."

Mission blinked, stunned at the honesty.

Canderous let out a snort. "Still. That was awkward, kid."

Mission groaned. "Can we just wait for Seth in peace?"

Canderous grinned. "Not a chance."