Mission sat alone in the dimly lit crew quarters of the Ebon Hawk, staring blankly at the metal wall in front of her. She was exhausted—not just physically, but in a way that settled deep in her bones, something raw and hollow. The last few days had changed everything.

She had fought before, sure. But this was different.

She had never killed anyone. Not really.

Gamorreans didn't count—they were just overgrown thugs. But the Sith soldier she shot back at the base? He had been different. A human. Someone who probably had a family, maybe friends waiting for him back home. And yet, when she pulled the trigger, when her blaster bolt struck him in the neck, dropping him in an instant, all she had felt was shock.

She could still hear the gurgling sound as he crumpled to the floor.

"Great shot, kid," Canderous had said, clapping her on the back.

She had been too stunned to even be annoyed by kid. She had just clenched her jaw, swallowed the rising bile in her throat, and forced herself to keep moving. No weakness. Not in front of them.

But that wasn't even the worst of it.

Taris—her Taris—was gone.

It had all happened so fast. The explosions. The fire. The screams. One moment, she was standing in their safe house, waiting for Talan and the others to return with the Ebon Hawk. The next, the entire city was shaking, buildings collapsing, people running for their lives.

She still remembered the way the window shattered as the first blast wave hit, how Zaalbar had thrown himself over her to shield her from the glass.

And then Ice's voice, sharp and furious. "Where the hell are they?"

She had barely been able to process what was happening when a massive shadow passed over them. The Ebon Hawk emerged through the thick clouds of smoke, its ramp lowering just as Carth and Ice sprinted aboard.

Mission had frozen.

This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening.

Everything she had known—every street, every familiar face, every memory—was being erased before her very eyes.

She had barely noticed Zaalbar scoop her up and carry her onto the ship. The last thing she saw before the ramp closed was the burning skyline of Taris… and the people still trapped inside it.

Jumping.

Falling.

Gone.

Now, hours later, she was still sitting there, staring at nothing, feeling… nothing.

She didn't cry. She refused to cry. That was weakness. And she didn't have time for weakness.

Instead, she let herself feel the grief and used it—molded it—into something else.

Anger.

Hatred.

Malak would pay for this. She would make sure of it.

She would train harder. She would get stronger. And when the time came, she would slit his throat herself.

Footsteps sounded from the corridor outside. Mission exhaled slowly, trying to push her emotions back into a place where no one could see them. She didn't need a lecture. She didn't need pity.

The door slid open. Ice stepped inside.

Mission felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease, just a little. Of all the people who could have come to check on her, Ice was probably the one she could tolerate. Ice had spent years on Taris too. It may not have been her home in the same way, but she understood.

Mission managed a weak smile. "Oh. Hey."

Ice studied her for a moment. "How are you holding up?"

Mission shrugged, trying to sound indifferent. "I'm fine, really. I mean, I guess I'm still in shock. Like it hasn't really set in yet."

Ice nodded, as if she understood exactly what she meant. "I felt the same way after Natera."

Mission frowned slightly. "Natera? Wasn't that—"

"—wiped out by the Mandalorians?" Ice finished. "Yeah. I had only been there for about a year, never stayed anywhere long before that. But for a while, it actually felt like home. Then, one day, the Mandalorians came. Started bombarding the planet from orbit. I managed to stow away on a cargo ship. We escaped just before the surface was completely leveled."

Mission swallowed hard, suddenly unsure what to say. She didn't know Ice well—not really. They had barely exchanged more than a few words before all of this. But now, Ice was opening up to her, for her. It wasn't much, but it meant something.

Mission hesitated, then asked, "How do you move on? I mean, I'm not saying I can't, but how do you keep it from... consuming you?"

Ice was quiet for a moment, as if weighing her words carefully.

"I won't lie to you," she said finally. "It doesn't get easier. You carry it with you forever. But it doesn't have to control you. You can let it destroy you, or you can use it. Let the anger push you forward. You survived when others didn't. Don't waste that. Make it mean something."

Mission nodded slowly, taking in her words.

Ice turned to leave, but just as she reached the doorway, Mission called after her.

"Hey, Ice?"

Ice glanced back over her shoulder.

Mission hesitated, then asked, "What have you used your second chance for?"

Ice exhaled, leaning against the doorway.

"When I figure that out," she said, "you'll be the first to know."

Then she was gone.