"I've never seen land formations like these," Lorna said, her mouth parted slightly in awe at the landscape around them. "How did you know about it?"

"The Boonta Eve Classic passes through here. The podrace your Toydarian contact will be in town for in a few days." Obi-Wan secured the eopie to a scrapped pod engine that lay abandoned in the sand nearby. "Mushroom Mesas, this area is named, if I recall correctly."

"I didn't take you for a fan of podracing," she replied, glancing over her shoulder at him with a smirk.

She took in the vast desert plain before them, her eyes drawn to the sheer cliff face that rose like a natural wall to their right. A series of distinctive formations rose like pillars clustered throughout the landscape. Obi-Wan joined her at the base of one of the towering structures, a narrow mesa that soared hundreds of meters skyward before widening dramatically at its peak. As Lorna gazed upward, squinting into the sharp sunlight, she noted how each mesa shared that same distinctive mushroom-like silhouette, understanding how they had earned their name.

"Anakin was from this planet, you know." Obi-Wan's gaze followed hers all the way to the top of the mesa as he folded his arms across his chest. "He and his mother had been slaves to a junk trader in Mos Espa."

Lorna's mouth pulled into a deep frown. Slavery. She wondered if Anakin's childhood had been even worse than hers.

"Master Qui-Gon met him here by chance," Obi-Wan continued, "But he knew right away there was something special about him. Anakin was a gifted pilot and one of the few humans who was capable of podracing. He won his freedom in a bet Qui-Gon made with his owner by taking first place in the podrace," he explained.

"I never knew that about Anakin. That he was a slave," Lorna said, her voice contemplative.

"Not many did. He didn't like to talk about it much." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "He was very close to his mother. I don't think he ever truly let go of that connection."

She remembered when Anakin had arrived at the Temple. Her fellow Padawans had been abuzz over the boy for whom the Council had made an exception, allowing him to begin training even though he was much too old. And she had thought her own acceptance to the Jedi at age four had been a remarkable exception. Her childhood memories, though harrowing, were few and fragmented, whereas Anakin had had enough time to form an attachment. Could anyone blame him? He had been born into poverty and slavery, but he had someone who loved him. That was more than she could claim.

"What happened to her? Is she still here on Tatooine?" Was that why he was here? He never did tell her why he'd chosen Tatooine to hide on, always deflecting when she pressed him on his reluctance to leave.

"No. She died." Obi-Wan looked at the ground, his features tight with grief. "She was captured and killed by Tuskens. Anakin tried to save her, but he was too late."

So Anakin's mother was not what tethered him here, then. Lorna sensed a ripple of regret pass through Obi-Wan and decided not to press further, not now when he was sharing something so painful.

"That's awful," she said.

For the first time since that night at the Temple, she felt a twinge sympathy for Anakin beneath her anger and sorrow over what he had done, what he had become. The Dark Side fed on suffering, and he had seen his share of it. It didn't absolve him of his choices, and she still didn't understand what drove him to such extremes, but at least now she could see how the path to darkness had opened before him.

"What was he like? As a Padawan?" she asked.

Obi-Wan let out a sigh. "Strong-willed. Stubborn. Fearless. Stronger with the Force than anyone I've ever known, perhaps with the exception of Master Yoda." His lips twitched in an almost-smile.

Lorna studied his profile as that ghost of a smile faded, memories flickering behind sad eyes that were fixed straight ahead.

"You miss him," she said, the observation slipping out. Perhaps that was all there was to it. Tatooine was a connection to the close friend he lost. Her suspicion that he wasn't telling her everything now felt insensitive. Was he not demonstrating his trust in her by sharing these vulnerable memories?

"Yes. He could be difficult at times, but also fiercely loyal and unrelenting in his determination. When he set his mind to something, nothing could stand in his way. Those were qualities I admired in him."

The regret in his voice made her heart ache for him. "It sounds like you were very close," she said, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

"There was no one closer." His eyes held hers for a moment and he leaned in slightly to her touch. "But, come." He glanced upwards again to the tops of the mesas. "I did not bring you here to dwell on the past."

"I am ready," she told him, squaring her shoulders.

"Good. I want you to climb the cliff here. When you reach the top, you will cross the tops of the mesas,"—he pointed to the mesa closest to the cliff's edge then out to one maybe one or two klicks away—"using the Force to extend your leaping distance so you can move from top to top."

Her eyes followed the path he was asking her to travel, gauging the distances between the pillars of stone. Some were hundreds of meters apart. It would be challenging, but with the Force to augment her jumps, doable. The height, though. If she were to miscalculate the distance…

"And if I fall?" she asked, swallowing the lump forming in her throat.

"You won't."

His confidence bolstered her, but a kernel of doubt remained in her mind. She shoved it out of her way, squaring her shoulders and stretching her back as she prepared for the ascent.

She walked a length of the cliff, evaluating the stone until she found a place that was not quite as steep, where ample outcroppings and cracks provided strong footholds from which she could pull herself up.

Steeling her nerves, she tucked her fingertips into the first grip. The rough stone scraped against her palm, but the coarse surface ensured her hands would not slip. She hugged the rock with her body and used the strength in her legs to push upwards. Calling on the Force, she let it guide the placement of her limbs as she ascended, pointing her towards the spots with the best leverage.

When she reached the top, her forehead was glistening with a sheen of perspiration. A strong wind gusted around the cliffs, whipping her long waves into her face. She gathered it at the nape of her neck and twisted it quickly into a braid to keep it out of her eyes, wondering if it was just the height that made the wind seem stronger. She'd grown accustomed to Tatooine's unforgiving heat, from which the barest breeze felt like a precious respite.

She finally allowed herself to steal a glance down. Obi-Wan stood stoically below, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe as he watched her. The drop beneath her set her heart racing, but she refused to let her fear show. His quiet confidence in her abilities stirred something in her chest—a desire to prove herself that went beyond mere pride. She wouldn't disappoint him.

She approached the edge and eyed the first mesa. Like she had in the canyon during sparring, she drew the Force around herself until it thrummed against her skin with the wind. She took a running start, gathering its energy beneath her feet like a compressed spring, then launched herself skyward. When her physical momentum would have failed, the Force carried her the rest of the way. Her boots hit the mesa's surface hard, sending her skidding across sandy stone.

"Don't stop. It gives you too much time to overthink. Get to the next mesa!" Obi-Wan called up to her. The wind nearly drowned out his voice, and she might not have heard him if she were not enhancing her senses with the Force.

Less space for a running start now, but she didn't let herself hesitate. Three quick steps and she was airborne again, the Force propelling her to the next mesa. Each leap became easier than the last as she found her rhythm, vaulting from one mesa to the next in wide arcs.

Don't look down. Don't think about the height. Don't imagine what would happen if—

Her next jump fell short. A strong gust of wind caught her off guard, and she miscalculated her landing by mere inches, but it was enough. Her feet hit uneven stone at the mesa's edge and slipped. Her stomach lurched as she pitched forward, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the rough surface. She caught the lip of stone just as her body swung out over empty air. Below, though she couldn't see him, she sensed Obi-Wan's jolt of worry, but he held back his aid. He would let her do it on her own. Gritting her teeth, she hauled herself up, forced down her terror, and made her next leap.

When she had returned to her starting place on the cliff, Obi-Wan was waiting for her, evidently having made the climb himself.

Her lungs burned, and the skin of her palms was rubbed raw from gripping the coarse stone, but a sense of accomplishment buoyed her.

Obi-Wan was frowning at her.

"I sense fear within you still, Lorna. You must confront it," he said.

She bristled. "I finished the course, did I not?"

"Indeed. But a Jedi's skills mean nothing without inner peace. Concentrate on your body. What do you notice?" He placed his palm on her collarbone over her heart to steady her.

Lorna sighed, then followed his guidance. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, focusing her awareness on her body.

"My heart is racing." There was exhilaration and exertion from completing the course, naturally, but the rapid pulsing coming from her chest was also from the anxiety she still felt from being so high from the ground.

Her pulse had also skipped a beat when Obi-Wan placed his hand over her heart. She didn't dwell on it, quickly shifting her awareness to other parts of her body.

"The muscles in my neck are tense and sore." When were they not? She resisted the urge to massage the back of her neck with her hand. Speaking of her hands…

"I've clenched my hands into fists." She released her stinging hands at her sides.

"You see? Your fear festers inside you, because you are still clinging to it. It marks itself on your body, and the body is connected to the mind. You were successful with the exercise through sheer will, but at what cost?" His voice held no judgment, only compassion. "When you learn to give your feelings over to the Force, it can set you free, body and mind. You will be capable of so much more."

"I know that holding onto my emotions is hindering me," she replied, huffing in exasperation. "I try to let them go, but I just… can't." She paced before him, resisting the urge to clench her fists. When would she get past this?

Obi-Wan looked out over the rock formations. She followed his gaze to the horizon, where the harsh blue of the Tatooine sky had mellowed, the late afternoon suns bathing everything in warm amber light. He stroked his beard, deep in thought, as a gust of wind whipped his robes around his body.

She caught herself admiring his eyes, their brilliant hue mirroring the cloudless Tatooine sky. A slight crinkle of lines was starting to show in the corners, that deepened whenever his winsome smile emerged. Though mussed some from the wind, his auburn hair and beard, dusted with a hint of white at his temples, had taken on a look of cultivated elegance that complemented his strong jaw and regal nose. He was ruggedly handsome, she decided, the subtle signs of his age only deepening the charm of his features.

Her cheeks grew warm. She had no business devoting such attention to his appearance, of course. But it was true, wasn't it? He'd admitted to earning the affection of the Duchess of Mandalore. If other women were drawn to him in such a way… She was simply noting the obvious, nothing more.

The confession of his love affair with the Duchess of Mandalore had poked a hole in her image of him as the picture of Jedi detachment, giving her a glimpse of a younger man who had loved deeply enough to question everything he believed in. Such passion seemed foreign to her and yet, rather than diminishing him in her eyes, the knowledge only made him more real. She actually found it…romantic? Not that she knew the first thing about it.

None of which was relevant to her training, she reminded herself firmly. He was her teacher. She drew in a deep breath and hastily reinforced her mental shields. Hadn't she learned her lesson during the incident when he'd removed his shirt?

"There's much more to discuss," he said, pulling his robes close around him. If he sensed any of her thoughts, he gave no indication. "And I have more training in mind. It will require venturing into the North Dune Sea, another day's journey. But first, let's make camp for the night."

A nearby ravine provided the cover they needed to build a fire out of the wind. The light from the fire danced on the tall, narrow walls, the only light in the near total darkness. Above, just a fraction of the night sky was visible, a band of starry deep blue in the blackness. The whistling of the wind high above and the crackling of the fire were the only sounds in the stillness of the evening.

Lorna unrolled her bedroll, spreading it on the ground a few feet from Obi-Wan's next to the fire. He was bent over the nascent flames, fanning them larger to provide more heat. She dug through their packs and pulled out some ration packs and the kettle, into which she poured enough water to reconstitute the portions.

Once he was satisfied that the fire was blazing suitably, Obi-Wan settled back on his bedroll, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched the flames.

"You know," he said quietly, "there was once a time when I wasn't sure I was cut out to be a Jedi?"

Lorna's eyes widened in surprise as she was fixing the kettle over the fire. "You? Really?"

"Master Qui-Gon had just taken me as his Padawan. We were often at odds early in our relationship. Qui-Gon cared more for the spirit of the Living Force than he did about following the Jedi Code to the letter. He didn't mind bending the rules a bit, whereas I was more by-the-book." He chuckled to himself softly. "I preferred combat and action, he preferred meditation. Which I was awful at."

"I supposed even the greatest Masters were once uncertain Padawans," she said, giving him a playful smile.

He smiled back but a solemness returned to his eyes. "I was full of insecurity over my place among the Jedi. I wanted to be a force of good in the galaxy, but my anxiety and lack of patience often prevented me from connecting with the Force as deeply as I wanted to."

She had a difficult time imagining the Jedi sitting across from her as an anxious Padawan struggling with many of the same emotions she did.

"How did you overcome it?" she asked, pouring the rations into their bowls as she waited for his answer.

He stroked his beard thoughtfully, his eyes distant as if searching through memories. "Qui-Gon helped me understand that my anxiety came from trying to control everything, including the Force itself. Once I learned to surrender to it rather than fight against it, things began to change." His gaze returned to her, warm but knowing. "Though I suspect you've heard similar wisdom from your own Master."

She nodded, a familiar ache blooming in her chest at the mention of Master Secura.

"What approach did she take to aid you?"

"She was patient with me," she said with a steadying breath, trying to keep her grief in check. "When I struggled with meditation, she would let me spend time in the Conservatorium instead."

"The Conservatorium?" His eyebrows raised with interest.

A sad smile touched her lips. "Music used to help me focus, help quiet my mind. The hymns especially."

"Hymns?"

"From the Church of the Force on Jedha. There was something about them… the way the electro-harp's melody would merge with the vocals. It was easier to let go, to sink into the Force when I was playing or singing."

"I didn't know you were musically gifted." His voice was warm with pleasant surprise. She blushed. "Why don't you sing more often?"

"Focusing on survival all this time hasn't left much room for music in my life," she replied, her emotions becoming a tangle in her chest. "The Conservatorium was my sanctuary. It's a reminder of all that I've lost."

"Would you like to try again?"

Would she? Sure, she had considered using her musical talents for work, but singing as a desperate attempt to earn credits didn't feel the same as using music to commune with the Force. Using it in that deep and personal way she had in the Temple brought up bittersweet memories she was hesitant to confront. It seemed like she had higher priorities when it came to her training.

"I would love to hear you sing sometime," Obi-Wan added when she didn't respond right away.

There was a soft yearning in his voice when he said it that stirred her, and she thought she would very much like to sing to him sometime if it meant she could hear his voice like that more.

Perhaps it was worth revisiting. She trusted Obi-Wan, and his dedication to her training had grown far beyond those early days of homestead chores. She wondered if his guidance could help her reconnect with that part of herself.

"I could give it a try," she answered finally, her eyes lingering on his.

He smiled warmly and reached for the kettle, bringing it over to where she had prepared the ration bowls. Steam rose from the bowls as he poured the hot water, the bland aroma of reconstituted vegetables filling the space between them.

"We still need to get to the root of your fears," he said as he settled back with his bowl. "When did you first notice them interfering with your connection to the Force?"

"It's been as long as I can remember," she said with a sigh, her expression falling in a somber frown.

"I see. What is the first memory of fear that you can recall? From your earliest days at the Temple?"

Lorna froze. "Well, not exactly…"

Swallowing a spoonful of rations, he said nothing, only looked at her expectantly.

"My earliest memories are…before."

He glanced at her sharply, his spoon hovering halfway to his mouth. "You have memories from your time before the Jedi?"

Ah, there it was. The same question she'd faced before the Council as a youngling, one that still made her stomach turn to ice. She set her bowl down, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

"Yes, I do. But they are not pleasant." Her frown deepened and she hugged her knees tighter.

"I will not pressure you into sharing, but… I would like to understand you better. I would like to give this the attention it deserves. Let me help you, Lorna."

The way her said her name–there was an imploring compassion in his voice, as if he were inviting her into a warm, safe place. Safe, with him. In that moment, she felt she could share anything with him.

"I…did not have a peaceful childhood before the Jedi found me," she began. She kept her eyes on the fire, the flames' dancing movements helping to keep her grounded. "My mother died of an illness when I was a baby and my father was a criminal gang leader on Corellia. I grew up surrounded by violence and crime. My father, he… his lifestyle was not one a baby was meant to be brought into. He wasn't cruel, not to me, but he paid very little attention to the child he never wanted."

She stopped, gripped by a deep, primal kind of fear. It had no real source, and yet it reared its ugly head anytime she thought about her youngest years. She squeezed her knees tighter to keep from trembling.

"You remember all of this?" Obi-Wan asked, surprised.

"My memories are only fragments. Just senses and feelings really." The smell of death sticks. The pleading of those who didn't repay their debts to her father. The helpless fear when her father failed to shield her from dangerous situations. "But Master Secura filled in a lot of the gaps."

"She told you about your family?"

"I know it's unconventional, but what memories I did have… She thought knowing the truth would help me overcome the fears attached to them. She had been sent to Corellia to mediate the intense gang wars in Coronet City. She discovered me when I…when I'd…" she hid her face in her knees as tears sprung to her eyes.

How she hated talking about this, how she hated the idea of Obi-Wan seeing her like this. But it felt too late to stop now, as if the Force had set something in motion and she had no choice but to follow its will.

She hadn't realized she'd started rocking gently back and forth until Obi-Wan's arm draped around her shoulder, stilling her movement. At some point, he'd come to sit beside her.

"Lorna, my dear, it's alright," he whispered, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

"I killed them all," she choked out, her eyes stinging. "A rival gang. A small group of them cornered us in an alleyway. They were going to kill my father and I… I don't know how I did it. I toppled the wall of a crumbling building nearby, crushing them underneath it. Master Secura arrived just in time to stop the wall from crushing my father and I as well."

"You were only four?" he asked, empathy making his voice break.

"I'm fairly certain I could not accomplish such a feat with the Force even now. I guess I was just that… afraid. Afraid for myself. Afraid for my father." Lorna swallowed, pushing her feelings down once again.

"Such things can happen," Obi-Wan said, nodding. "Those who are strong in the Force often wield it with emotion rather than intent when they are young and untrained."

She lifted her head slightly, though she couldn't quite meet his eyes. "Master Secura said the same thing. But the Council… they were concerned. About my age, about the darkness I had already witnessed." Her voice grew quieter. "About how much fear they sensed in me."

"And what did you think?"

"I just wanted to be worthy of the chance they were giving me." Her fingers curled into the fabric of her pants. "The Jedi rescued me from a much worse life. Becoming a Jedi was the best thing that ever happened to me. Master Secura believed in me when others didn't. I couldn't let her down."

The tears that had threatened to spill were blurring her vision. She blinked them away, forcing her shoulders back. She drew in a deep breath, grasping for her emotional control, but her mental barriers were in tatters. All of her shame, her fear, her desperate need to prove herself—she knew he could sense it all.

She looked at Obi-Wan and watched as comprehension dawned on his features.

"Ah," he said softly. "So, you learned to hide your fears rather than face them."

His words struck a chord, illuminating something Lorna had never quite grasped. She nodded slowly, letting his observation sink into her. Of course, she knew a Jedi must confront and release their fears. It was one of the most fundamental teachings. But she hadn't understood how her desperate need to prove herself worthy of the Order had kept her from truly facing them.

"Do you see the root now?" he asked.

"My real fear was not being worthy of the Jedi." Her admission emerged barely louder than a whisper. The truth of it crashed over her like a wave, years of pushing down her doubts suddenly surging to the surface. How many times had she thrown herself into training, into meditation, into service, trying to prove herself worthy of the path that had saved her? How many times had she hidden her fears rather than face them, terrified that acknowledging them would only confirm what she dreaded—that the Council had been right to hesitate accepting her?

Her vulnerability left her feeling raw, but speaking the truth aloud seemed to loosen something that had been knotted inside her for a long time. The Force stirred around her, as if responding to this newfound clarity. Slowly, she uncurled from her protective position, letting her knees fall as she settled into a cross-legged pose. Her knee brushed against Obi-Wan's as she shifted. He didn't move away, and neither did she.

"We must confront and examine the source of our fears to heal them–including the guilt you still carry for those deaths. Only then can we let them go. The Force will guide you." He released her shoulder, then reached for her hand where it had fallen in her lap. "But you need not do it alone."

Her palm tingled where his thumb stroked it with a tenderness that stole her breath. She moved her own thumb against his skin, the warmth of it a balm. Through the Force, she felt his compassion wrap around her like a warm cloak, his signature brushing against hers, soft and comforting.

She considered all of the suffering he had endured, the wounds he had allowed her to see, though he bore them with such dignity. The loss of his Master, his lover. The devastating betrayal of his closest friend. The desire to wrap him in the same comfort overwhelmed her.

"Neither should you."

Their eyes met and she lowered her mental shields just enough to let him sense her gratitude, her trust, her care. Their mingled Force presences sang, resonating in perfect harmony, and for a moment her uncertainty seemed to dissolve.

She was suddenly very aware of each point of contact between them—where their knees and shoulders brushed, where his thumb still traced the lines in her palm. His scent, the rich and herbal fragrance of sapir leaves, drifted to her, familiar and oddly intoxicating.

She drew back slightly, both physically and in the Force, their song fading. She felt the disappointment of its loss even as she was still catching her breath from the intensity of it. Gently, he let her hand fall to her knee.

She broke her gaze away from his, the muscles in her neck protesting as she turned her head back to the fire. Her fingers pressed into the knot. Even now, her body was clinging to her stress.

"Your neck is still bothering you?" Obi-Wan asked, an unfamiliar roughness in his voice.

"You'd think I'd get used to it. It's bothered me for years." She let out a humorless chuckle. "Master Secura knew a Jedi healing technique—she would use the Force to find the source of the pain and let it guide her hands to release the tension. She used it when the pain got intense." Lorna gave up her attempts to smooth the knots in her neck and shifted to get more comfortable on the bedroll.

Obi-Wan was looking at her pointedly, his expression conflicted again. He seemed to choose his next words carefully. "I am familiar with the practice. I would be willing to… if it will bring you relief."

She hesitated. Imagining Obi-Wan performing the healing technique on her elicited an inexplicable flutter in her chest, especially after the closeness they'd just shared. She cursed her racing heart. She was thinking too much, making a mountain out of a womp rat's nest. It was just Force healing, as natural and unremarkable as when Master Secura had done it.

"I would be grateful for your assistance," she answered.

Obi-Wan slid himself behind her on the bedroll. He sat on his heels, his knees tucked just behind her hips. There was a moment of pause before she finally felt his hands brush delicately on the back of her neck. She shivered involuntarily.

"Are you cold? We could move closer to the fire if—"

"No," Lorna said with more edge than she intended. She softened her voice. "No, I'm fine."

What is wrong with you? Lorna wondered to herself.

Obi-Wan's palms framed her neck, thumbs tracing soothing circles along the taut muscles bracing her spine. He moved with intention as the Force guided him to the places where the aches twisted deepest.

"Lorna…" Obi-Wan spoke low and husky, with just a hint of reproach. "Remember to breathe. The technique will be more effective if you take some deep breaths and connect with the Force."

She hadn't even realized she was holding her breath. She inhaled sharply and closed her eyes, feeling the Force flow through her, but it only seemed to amplify her senses.

His hands felt nothing like Master Secura's had. Her former Master's hands had glided light as feathers over her shoulders, small and smooth with delicate strength in her agile fingers. Obi-Wan's palms would have eclipsed hers in their breadth, work-calloused and strong with resilient muscle, yet no less agile and precise. She let his unhurried movements unwind her, every small stroke of his thumbs loosening her muscles.

His touch against the sensitive skin of her neck provoked a curling heat low within her core, like the first wisps of smoke from a kindled flame. She was utterly unprepared for this new sensation, taken aback by the way it flooded her senses with an allure that made her want to lean into his touch. She was also unprepared for what she sensed in him as she melted into his attentive motions—that same deep, curling heat, that same desire for more.

Oh.

Oh, no…

The butterflies. The sparks. Those descriptions from the holodramas of feelings she was certain she had never experienced…

His hands gripped the muscles that trailed over her shoulders, fingertips slipping under the neckline of her tunic where they grazed over her clavicles as he applied a pressure so gratifying all notion of resistance fled her mind.

And to her abject mortification, a soft sigh of pleasure escaped her lips.

Obi-Wan went completely still. Should she apologize? She turned her head, not even sure what she would say, but found his face closer than she'd expected. His eyes found hers, then dropped briefly to her lips before returning to meet her gaze. The Force between them seemed to crystalize, like mineral ipsium, unstable and charged with possibility.

Slowly, his hands released her shoulders, his movements careful and deliberate.

"I think that is… that is quite enough for now." He stood and went to his own bedroll, avoiding her gaze and busying himself with arranging his pack. "I hope it helped," he added, his tone clipped.

Lorna was flushed from her chest to the tips of her ears. She kept her eyes lowered, her fingers worrying at loose threads at the edge of her tunic. Her mind was still reeling. What had just happened?

His reaction left no room to doubt whether he had sensed her feelings this time, as she had sensed his, their minds still unguarded from their vulnerable conversation. As he rifled through his pack, she wished she could still get some sense of his thoughts to help her make sense of the discord she was experiencing. But when she searched for him in the Force, she found his walls rigidly enforced.

He laid down on his bedroll, eyes staring blankly at the stars, hands clasped carefully across his stomach.

"Get some rest. We have a long journey ahead of us," he said, keeping his eyes on the night sky.

Lorna tried to heed his advice, getting comfortable on her mat and closing her eyes. But she wasn't surprised when sleep didn't come.

In all her years, physical attraction and romantic relationships had never proved to be much temptation for her. But those embers were still smoldering deep in her belly, and her heart stuttered when she thought of how he'd looked when he'd said "You need not do it alone." It was clear that had changed.

He was her teacher.

It was absurdly inappropriate. Shameful. Attachment was forbidden, and with good reason—attachment led to fear, and fear was a path to the Dark Side. She had just confronted how her fear of being unworthy had held her back. To give in to these new feelings would only create more fear, more weakness. She could not allow it to happen again.

And yet…Maybe something had changed for him too. Tonight, she'd sensed the care in the comfort he offered, sensed the desire behind his touch. He could have hidden these things from her, but he had chosen not to.

Did he want…this? Whatever this was that was developing between them? Her thoughts wandered to what he'd told her of his relationship with the Duchess. He'd let go of that attachment, chosen his duty over his affection. Surely he would again.

As she would, as well.