The heat pressed down on her shoulders like a weight, but Mission barely noticed it anymore. Her mind was racing too fast, her heart pounding too hard, and every breath she took felt sharp, like inhaling sand.

She ripped Seth's jacket from her shoulders and clenched it in her fists, shaking with a frustration she couldn't place. It wasn't Lena's words, not really. It was the fact that they made sense. That they fit too perfectly into the gaps in her childhood memories, into the places she had patched over with excuses and blind faith.

"He wouldn't have left me," she muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible above the hum of the settlement around her. "He loves me. He wouldn't have left me."

But the more she said it, the hollower it felt.

She heard her name called behind her—Seth's voice, steady and warm even as he hurried to catch up. She squeezed her eyes shut for a half-second, trying to fight back the lump forming in her throat, before forcing herself to stop walking.

She angled her face away as Seth approached, but it didn't matter. He stepped in front of her, and she felt the jacket slip gently from her grip before his fingers tilted her chin up, coaxing her to look at him.

The moment their eyes met, her resolve crumbled.

He said nothing at first. Just pulled her in, one arm wrapping around her back while the other pressed against the back of her head, tucking her against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the galaxy.

Mission squeezed her eyes shut again, this time allowing herself to sink into the warmth of the embrace. "The worst part," she mumbled into his shoulder, "is that I believe her. And I hate that."

Seth exhaled softly, like he already knew she would say that. "You're not wrong for having doubts," he murmured against her temple. "You were a kid, Mish. You did what you had to do to keep moving forward. You needed Griff to be your hero. You needed someone to believe in."

Mission swallowed hard, gripping the fabric of his shirt. "Yeah, well. Looks like I put my credits on the wrong guy."

Seth pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands coming up to cradle either side of her face. "We don't know that yet," he said firmly. His thumbs brushed against her cheekbones, not quite wiping away her tears—just anchoring her, keeping her steady. "But if you want answers, I think I know where to start."

She tensed slightly, an instinctive recoil. "Seth, don't—"

"I know," he interrupted gently. "I know you don't want to get your hopes up. I know you're scared of what we might find. But we don't have to commit to anything yet, alright? Just… consider it."

Mission hesitated. She had to hesitate. The idea of searching for Griff was almost as terrifying as the idea of never seeing him again.

Seth squeezed her hand, grounding her. "Lena said he was probably working in the mines. If we go to the Czerka offices, we might be able to get a roster. That's all. No wild goose chases, no detours. Just a list."

Mission bit her lip, searching his face. He wasn't pushing her, not really. He was giving her an out. She could say no. She could keep walking, shove all of this back down, pretend it didn't matter.

But that was the thing.

It did matter.

"…Okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Then, after a breath, a little steadier: "Okay."

Seth smiled, relief flickering in his eyes before he pulled her in again, pressing a quick, fierce kiss against the top of her head. "We'll figure this out," he promised.

Mission wasn't sure if she believed that.

But standing there, arms wrapped around him as his heart beat steadily beneath her ear, she thought maybe—just maybe—she could believe in him.

The collision at the threshold of Anchorhead's Czerka office nearly sent Seth and Mission sprawling backward. Bastila huffed at the impact, throwing a sharp glare at them while Canderous barely shifted, standing solid as a durasteel wall. Jolee, for his part, just harrumphed and folded his arms.

"Slow down, would you?" the elder Jedi muttered. "Don't see why you kids always have to be in such a damn hurry."

Seth took a step back, steadying himself. "We, uh—kinda have a lead."

Canderous smirked. "That was quick. What, you two already lost all our credits at the Pazaak tables?"

"Funny," Seth deadpanned. "Actually, we found out that Griff might be here on Tatooine, working for Czerka."

Mission stiffened slightly beside him, but she kept her jaw tight. It was the first time she'd heard the words aloud—Griff might be here. She wasn't sure if the hope bubbling inside her chest was a relief or a burden.

Canderous's smirk faded into something closer to understanding. "That so?" He gave Mission a small nod. "That's worth looking into."

Bastila, however, exhaled sharply and crossed her arms. "I recognize how important this is to you both," she said, her voice measured, "but I must remind you that our priority remains the Star Map."

"I know, Bastila," Seth replied, raising his hands slightly. "We're not losing focus. But if we can also find Mission's brother while we're at it, why shouldn't we?"

"Because time is a resource we don't have in excess," Bastila countered. "Every moment we delay, Malak strengthens his hold on the Star Forge. We cannot afford to be distracted."

Mission stiffened, but Seth wasn't about to let Bastila's words cut her down. He squared his shoulders. "We're keeping our eye on the prize," he insisted, voice steady. "This lead just fell into our lap. All we want to do is ask a couple of questions at Czerka. If it's a dead end, we'll move on."

Bastila studied him, her jaw tightening. But then, instead of doubling down, she sighed. "Very well. Just—be quick about it."

Jolee, meanwhile, leaned casually against the doorway. "Seems you had just as much luck at the cantina as we had at Czerka."

"That's one way to put it," Canderous grunted.

Seth's brows knitted together. "You guys actually find anything useful?"

Bastila huffed, clearly still irritated. "Czerka has been conducting mining operations in the Dune Sea, but nothing remotely resembling the Star Map has turned up. And given the desert stretches on for kilometers, we are—unfortunately—without direction."

"They did offer us a hunting license," Canderous said. "Only catch is, they want us to do them a little favor first."

Seth raised an eyebrow. "I already don't like the sound of that."

"You shouldn't," the Mandalorian agreed. "Sand People have been raiding their sandcrawlers, and they want us to take care of it."

Mission made a disgusted noise in her throat. "Ugh. Of course they want us to do their dirty work."

"Sounds like a job for an army, not… whatever we are," Seth said, frowning. "What, are we supposed to wipe out an entire Sand People village?"

"If you want to get yourself shot before you can say 'hello,' that's the way to do it," Canderous muttered.

"There was an Ithorian in the office while we were negotiating," Bastila added. "He insisted a peaceful solution was possible—he even mentioned a translator droid in the local shops that might help with communication."

"As if the Sand People will let us get close enough to talk before opening fire," Canderous scoffed.

Seth ran a hand down his face. "So, let me get this straight. We either take down an entire Sand People encampment, or we try to talk to them with the help of a protocol droid, or we don't get a hunting license and we can't leave the city at all."

"That's about the size of it," Jolee muttered.

Mission folded her arms. "Can't we just take the license, find the Star Map, and leave? We don't have to follow through on the favor, right?"

"As much as that might appeal to our more rebellious companions," Bastila said, shooting a pointed glance at Seth, "Czerka holds the maps we need. Maps that might save us from a slow, agonizing death of dehydration in the desert."

"And I'd really like to avoid that outcome," Jolee added.

"Great," Seth sighed. "So it looks like we're playing by Czerka's rules whether we like it or not."

Bastila nodded. "We'll need to regroup and determine our next course of action. You two—"

"—Still need to ask about Griff," Seth cut in quickly.

Bastila exhaled through her nose, and for a second, he braced for another lecture. Instead, she just shook her head. "Fine. Just be quick about it."

With that, she turned on her heel and strode toward the marketplace, Canderous and Jolee following behind.

Seth didn't let go of Mission's hand.

Not when she flexed her fingers, not when she exhaled slowly through her nose, not when she turned her head away from him and stared at the door in front of them as if it might sprout fangs and bite.

"I don't know if I can do this," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Seth squeezed her hand just enough to bring her back to the present. "Then we don't have to."

Mission's head whipped toward him. "What?"

"You heard me." He held her gaze steady, his grip on her hand firm, anchoring. "We don't have to do this right now. We don't have to do this at all, if you're not ready. No one's forcing you."

Mission's throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. "Yeah, except me."

Seth didn't answer immediately. He just let her sit in that thought for a second. Then, gently: "Mission, I get it. I do. You've been searching for Griff for years—if anyone knows how badly you want answers, it's me. But if you need more time, if you need to walk away and come back later, or never, that's your call. No one's going to hold it against you."

Her fingers curled tighter around his. "But I will."

That was the root of it. He could hear it in her voice, see it in the tight line of her jaw, in the way her shoulders had squared like she was trying to brace for a blow that hadn't come yet.

She was scared. Scared of what she'd find. Scared that it would hurt. But more than that—scared that not looking would make her a coward.

"Mission," Seth said, careful, deliberate. "You already know that finding Griff isn't gonna fix everything."

Her grip turned vice-like. "I know that," she bit out. "But not knowing is worse."

Seth nodded. "Then let's find out."

Mission let out another slow, measured breath, and when she looked at him this time, there was something clearer behind her dark brown eyes. Determination.

"Okay," she whispered.

Seth smiled. "Okay."

For just a second, he let the moment linger, taking in her face, the way she breathed in deep and exhaled with purpose. Then, his voice softened: "I'm ready if you are."

Mission let out a small, shaky laugh. "That's my line."

"You snooze, you lose."

She rolled her eyes, but finally—finally—nodded. "Alright, Hotshot," she said, squeezing his hand one last time before letting go. "Let's go find my brother."

And together, they stepped inside.

It took twenty minutes of conversation with the Czerka rep to get any real answers, twenty minutes of Seth carefully, methodically working through bureaucratic nonsense while Mission clenched her fists and bit her tongue.

And when they finally did get their answer, she wished they hadn't asked at all.

Griff had gone missing.

It had happened over a month ago, during a Sand People raid on one of the mining sites. No one had gone after him. No search party, no rescue mission. He wasn't important enough for that. According to Czerka, he was a lousy employee, unreliable at best, and a drain on company resources at worst.

They'd left him to die.

The words didn't fully register at first. Mission heard them, she understood them, but they didn't feel real. Like the rep was talking about someone else entirely. Some other careless loser who'd made one too many mistakes and finally paid for it.

Not Griff. Not her brother.

Seth was still talking—Mission could see his lips moving, could hear the way his voice tensed with frustration as he pushed for more details—but it all sounded muffled, like she was underwater. A low, dull ringing took up residence in her ears, blocking out everything else.

And then Seth turned toward her.

She barely registered the moment his voice quieted, the moment his expression changed. But when her eyes met his, she saw it.

That look. That pity.

And she broke.

"I need to get out of here," she muttered, shoving past him before he could stop her.

She didn't hear if he called after her. She didn't stop to check if he was following. She just moved, cutting through the streets of Anchorhead, pushing past bodies, feeling the dust and heat cling to her skin as she beelined for the only place that felt safe.

The Ebon Hawk.

She was inside before she'd even made the decision, feet carrying her up the loading ramp on autopilot. She barely registered the crew glancing up as she passed through the main hold, their conversations cutting short.

She didn't stop.

Not until she reached the engine room, slamming her fist against the controls and sealing the door behind her.

Only then—only when she was alone—did the reality hit.

The sob wracked her before she even realized she was crying. One moment, she was standing there, arms wrapped around herself, staring blankly at the hyperdrive. The next, she was on her knees, gasping for air between ragged, shaking breaths.

Fear. Pain. Anger.

It all crushed down on her at once, suffocating.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to punch something, to tear something apart, to do something—anything—to stop feeling like she was drowning in her own grief.

She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, forcing herself to breathe.

Griff was alive.

He had to be alive.

Because if he wasn't—

She squeezed her eyes shut.

She didn't know how long she sat there, staring at the floor, waiting for the ache to dull, for the storm to pass. She just knew she wasn't ready to face the others.

A knock on the door broke the silence.

Mission tensed, blinking up at the durasteel entrance.

"Not now, Seth," she called, her voice raw.

Silence.

Then—

"[We don't have to talk if you don't want to, Mission.]"

Mission's breath hitched.

Zalbaar.

Her fingers hovered over the door controls for a long moment before she finally pressed them. The door slid open, and the Wookiee ducked under the frame, stepping inside.

He didn't say anything.

He didn't have to.

Mission swallowed hard as she watched him lower himself onto the floor across from her, sitting with the same quiet presence he always had, waiting.

She sniffed, wiping at her puffy, tear-streaked face. "Seth filled you in, huh?"

"[He told us enough]" Zalbaar confirmed. "[It's okay not to know how to feel. I didn't either.]"

Mission inhaled sharply.

She knew what he meant. What he really meant.

He'd had his own complications with siblings too.

The rejection. The betrayal. The way it clashed with the love, the desperate, painful hope that refused to die, no matter how many times it should have. She gasped softly, pressing her trembling lips together.

And then she crawled forward, curling against his side. Zalbaar's arms wrapped around her, holding her steady. Strong. Safe. And for the first time in years, Mission let herself be held.

The pain didn't go away. It didn't fix anything.

But for now, this was enough.

The knock was soft.

Not hesitant, not unsure—just quiet.

Mission sat cross-legged on her bunk, twisting one of her lekku absently over her shoulder. She knew it was Seth before she heard his voice.

"Hey, Mish." A pause. "Can I come in?"

She wanted to say no.

Not because she didn't want to see him—Force, she always wanted to see him—but because she wasn't sure she could handle whatever look he'd give her.

That concerned one.

The one that made her feel seen in a way she wasn't sure she deserved.

She hesitated. Not long. Just long enough for him to know she had. "…Yeah," she said finally, and the door hissed open.

Seth stepped inside, standing just past the threshold. His jacket was off, sleeves pushed to his elbows, his hands braced on his hips like he wasn't sure what to do with them.

He took her in for a moment.

"Hey," he said quietly.

Mission forced a small smile. "Hey."

She scooted over, making space for him to sit at the edge of her bunk. He took it, elbows resting on his knees, gaze flicking to the floor before working up to looking at her. "You holding up?"

It was a simple question.

But Force, it hit her like a punch to the gut.

Because he actually meant it.

Mission chewed the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. "I dunno."

Seth exhaled slowly. "Yeah. That's fair."

He didn't push.

Didn't ask her to talk about it or unpack her feelings like everyone else always did.

He just sat there. Letting her sit in the silence without being alone in it.

She wasn't sure how long they'd been sitting there when Seth shifted, reaching for something at his collar.

She heard the clink of metal before she saw it.

His dog tags.

The same ones she'd grabbed onto in that first bar fight on Taris, the first thing she'd ever known about him.

He pulled them from his neck, letting them dangle from his fingers.

Mission blinked at them.

"…Seth?"

He didn't say anything at first—just held them out to her. Slowly, like he was handing over something more than just a name and number. "I want you to have them," he said simply.

Her stomach flipped.

"What?" she whispered.

"They don't mean much anymore," he said, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn't sure how to explain it. "Not as a soldier, anyway. But they meant something once. And now…"

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

"I guess I just want you to have them."

Mission curled her fingers around the tags. They were warm from his skin, solid in her grip.

She felt the weight of them—not heavy, not suffocating—but grounding.

Her thumb traced over the embossed lettering. His name. His past. The proof of who he was before all of this.

And he'd just given it to her.

Not for safekeeping.
Not for sentimentality.

But because she was the only one he wanted to have them.

She swallowed hard, her heart hammering against her ribs.

This wasn't a flirtation.
This wasn't some stolen moment of almosts.
This wasn't even a confession.

It was a choice.

A choice Seth had already made.
A choice she was finally ready to make, too.

She exhaled sharply, clutching the tags in one hand as she reached for him with the other. Seth stilled when her fingers curled around the fabric of his jacket, anchoring herself to him.

There was no hesitation. No half-steps, no lingering doubts—just certainty.

She surged forward, pressing her lips against his with a resolution that left no room for questions. Seth inhaled sharply against her mouth, not in surprise, but in something deeper. Something that felt relieved.

Like this was the moment he'd been waiting for.

Like this was the moment they both knew was coming.

His hands slid to her waist, steady, sure. No fumbling, no second-guessing—just pulling her in, holding her like she belonged there.

And Force help her, she did.

Mission had spent her whole life fighting to prove she didn't need anyone. That she was fine on her own, that loving people only ended in loss.

But this?

This wasn't loss.

This was Seth Avery, all heart and devotion, standing right in front of her and choosing her anyway.

This was safe.

This was coming home.

And maybe she wasn't ready to say the words yet—maybe she wasn't even ready to think them—but it didn't matter.

Because she felt it.

Deep and true, like Taris before the bombs fell, like laughter over stolen street food, like fingers laced together under flickering neon lights.

Like something worth holding onto.

Their lips parted, breath mingling, foreheads pressed together.

Seth didn't say anything. Didn't ask for confirmation. Didn't need to. His fingers curled tighter at her waist, like he already knew.

Mission smiled—small, certain.

She pressed the dog tags to her chest, holding them against her heartbeat. Pressing his name stamped in metal against the very heart that had claimed him.

"Guess you're stuck with me, Hotshot."

Seth huffed a soft laugh, but the warmth in his eyes said everything she wasn't ready to. "Wouldn't have it any other way, Mish."

And just like that, the last of the distance between them was gone.