The airlock hissed shut behind her as Illaoï stepped aboard what would become, for a time, her new refuge. She took in the space — the corridors, the dim lights, the distinct scent of heated metal mixed with the rigid cleanliness of military habit. Not a palace, but certainly not a cell.

T7 beeped cheerfully and spun toward her with a little pirouette. Illaoï knelt without a word, reaching out calmly. The droid blinked with joyful, almost musical bursts of sound.

"You're full of light," she murmured gently.

From the back, Doc frowned, approaching with a spring in his step, his usual charming smile locked and loaded, imaginary collar adjusted.

"Welcome aboard, radiant stranger. The pleasure is all ours. Mostly mine, in fact. Doc — doctor, hero, modest heartthrob — all rolled into one."

Illaoï offered a polite smile, slightly unsure how to process the intensity of his stare.

"Thank you. That's… warm. As welcomes go."

"If you need anything — and I do mean anything — I'm deeply, dramatically available."

"You are deeply, dramatically exhausting," groaned Kira as she stormed in from the cockpit stairs, arms flung upward. "Finally! Another woman on this ship! I was about to turn feral with all this testosterone around."

Kira latched onto Illaoï's arm with the force of a friendly hurricane and dragged her toward the common room.

"You have no idea how long I've been praying for a roommate. You're taking my quarters, no question. We'll have sleepovers, sparring sessions, emotional breakdowns, cooking nights — tell me you cook, right? With your calm vibe, you've gotta cook."

"I… do," Illaoï replied, slightly overwhelmed.

T7 chirped something smug. Doc rolled his eyes, clearly defeated by a metal cylinder and a hyperactive ex-Sith.

Sergeant Rusk entered next, standing ramrod straight, armor pristine.

"New civilian onboard. Temporary assignment. Threat level: moderate to high. Confirmed kill record: verified. Humanitarian history: substantiated. Welcome aboard."

Illaoï inclined her head with calm grace.

"Thank you, Sergeant. I'll do my best to be of use."

"That is the standard. Mission, order, efficiency. End of transmission."

Then came Loewen.

He approached quietly, eyes meeting hers. There was Jedi serenity in his gaze… and something else. A disturbance, buried deep, expertly hidden.

"You're welcome here," he said simply. "As long as you wish, consider this ship your home."

A pause.

"And thank you — for helping us find our way back."

She nodded, a shadow of emotion crossing her features.

Then — in the doorway — Scourge.

Silent.

Their eyes met. And something passed between them. A current. A wordless understanding. A shared image. Thoughts not spoken, but understood.

You slammed the door in my face, princess.
You crossed a sacred threshold without asking.
I could crush you with a flick of my hand.
But you didn't.

They stared. Not with hostility. Not even challenge. Just… awareness. Wariness. And something that didn't have a name yet.

Kira, still clinging to Illaoï's arm, piped up:

"Right! So you're bunking with me. It'll be amazing!"

But Loewen raised an eyebrow, and Rusk was already consulting his datapad.

"There's… a detail," Loewen interjected. "You and Scourge are under shared surveillance. That was the condition."

Rusk added:

"Mandatory cohabitation proximity. Simulation of domestic risk scenarios. Probability of violent incident: 46%. Estimated medical wing distance: 83 meters. Recommendation: reinforced wall plating. Soundproofing protocols advised."

Doc turned pale.

"She's… she's sleeping with… HIM?"

T7 chirped a cheerful jingle, roughly translated as: "Yay! I won't be scared in the dark alone if she's here!"

Kira sagged like a deflated balloon.

"You're breaking my heart."

Illaoï bowed slightly.

"It's logical to stay where surveillance is most effective. I'll respect Master Satele's orders. It's not a matter of comfort."

Scourge folded his arms.

"Oh, it'll be anything but comfortable. I promise."

"Perfect," she replied, unfazed.

Thus, the die was cast.

An unlikely cohabitation. A fragile alliance. A tenuous peace. But aboard this rattling tin can in the middle of a galaxy at war — it was as close to "home" as any of them had ever known.