Chapter 31 : Perdere Ipsum
Unexpectedly, a blast of light exploded through the Force. On instinct, Darth Sidious pulled free from the attack and pushed back in his seat. His connection to Vader had been severed, terminated by some invisible, untraceable force — a power not owing to Vader or himself.
Gritting his teeth, the Emperor steepled his gnarled fingers together. He glared at the city beyond his office window and regarded it with contempt. The bond between Sith master and apprentice was supposed to be unbreakable. A powerful union forged by the Force itself. To violently interrupt that bond would take something – or someone – equally as powerful.
His office doors creaked open. The familiar presence of Mas Amedda invaded the room. He closed the doors behind him and started across the floor.
"I told you I did not wish to be disturbed," Sidious said.
"There is something you need to see," announced Amedda, continuing his approach. There was urgency in his voice.
Dropping his hands to squeeze the armrests of his seat, Sidious bared his teeth and snarled. "This had better be important."
"It is, my lord."
He turned his attention from the window. Mas Amedda placed a small holo-projector upon his desk. Without further explanation, his blue-horned Chagrian servant activated the device and stepped back.
A HoloNet news report rezzed into view. Two reporters were stood outside the towering royal palace on Alderaan – the home of that traitorous Senator Bail Organa and his barren wife.
"Good evening, I'm Lyria Vondrai, reporting live from outside the royal palace here on Alderaan, where Queen Breha Organa is being held hostage in what appears to be a shocking ransom situation. Details are scarce at this time, but we have confirmed from sources close to the palace that bounty hunters are behind this audacious act.
"Now, as you can see behind me, the palace grounds are heavily secured. Royal guards have cordoned off the area, and additional security forces are arriving by the minute. The situation is tense, and the fate of the Queen remains uncertain. We understand Senator Bail Organa has not been seen publicly in the city for more than a week prior to the incident.
"I am joined by political analyst Kes Darnen, who has been monitoring this developing crisis. Kes, what can you tell us about how Alderaan's government might respond?"
"Thank you, Lyria. First, let me say this is an unprecedented event in Alderaan's history. The Organa family is deeply respected, not just here on Alderaan, but across the galaxy. If these reports of ransom demands are true, we could be looking at a delicate negotiation process. Alderaan is known for its commitment to peace and diplomacy, but this puts them in an extraordinarily difficult position. Any misstep could endanger the queen's life."
"Indeed, Kes. And as we await more information, there's been widespread speculation about the bounty hunters responsible. We have no confirmation on their identities or motives beyond the ransom demand. Some witnesses claim to have seen a ship of peculiar design in the skies above Alderaan earlier today, though this is unverified at this time.
"We will continue to bring you updates as they develop. For now, this is Lyria Vondrai, reporting live from Alderaan. Back to you in the studio."
Sidious rocked back in his chair and laughed. "Bounty hunters?" he snickered. Unable to contain his dark amusement, he laughed harder and slapped the desk. "Hah! Bounty hunters! How delightfully underhanded of you, apprentice."
Amedda was confused. "How did you want me to respond to this, my lord?" he asked, his concerned expression revealing just how badly he misunderstood the situation. "Should we offer aid?"
"Offer... aid?" Sidious repeated, spitting the ludicrous question back at the Chagrian in disgust.
The Chagrian paled at his tone, his confusion deepening. "Bail Organa is still a senior serving member of the Imperial Senate, my lord," he said. "An attack on him could be misconstrued as a threat to—"
"Senator Organa is nothing but a political idealist and a traitor!" Sidious hissed. "The only reason I have prevented Lord Vader from executing him is because he may still be of use to me."
"But, my lord... the Senate..."
He was done with being questioned. Rising from his seat, Sidious sliced his hand through the air like a blade. "Do nothing," he ordered. Then, turning back to face the window, he sharpened his gaze on the city. "Senator Organa made his bed... now he can lie in it. I shall personally enjoy watching the chaos unfold. It may prove to be... entertaining."
Usually Amedda was quite adept at reading the room, it was one of the main reasons Sidious kept him around, but today he appeared to be lacking said skills. "Unless you have more pressing information, vizier, you may see yourself out."
"Yes – yes, my lord," Amedda stammered. He hesitated, fidgeted awkwardly in place. "There was perhaps, just... one more thing."
His Chagrian servant was not normally so on edge when he had something to say, and it was most unlike him to stammer in his presence. Curious, Sidious cocked a brow and glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, there's more, is there?" he inquired, fully aware of how threatening the question sounded.
Mas Amedda nodded, his blue horns bobbing. "The freighter Captain reportedly made contact with Lord Vader this morning. He may have unintentionally alluded to your involvement."
"And?" Sidious demanded, expecting there to be more to the story. Impatient, he got tired of waiting. "Well? What else?"
"Nothing else, my lord," Amedda said. "That was it."
Sidious sneered at the Chagrian. "Do me a favour, vizier, and don't waste my time with meaningless speculation and pointless statements. I do nothing without purpose. If I had wanted my involvement hidden from Lord Vader – I assure you – it would be."
Amedda bowed. "Of course, my lord."
Flicking his wrist, Sidious dismissed the Chagrian. "Now... get out of my sight," he snarled, eager to return to his meditation, desperate to begin the hunt for the source of the disturbance that had severed his connection to Vader. "And don't disturb me again unless it is of the utmost importance."
"Yes, my lord. My apologies, my lord," grovelled Amedda. He quickly turned on his heel and fled the office in the fastest walk Sidious had ever seen him attempt. It wasn't nearly fast enough.
• • •
"There's still time to change your mind," Commander Bly whispered into Padmé's ear.
They were back in Bail's quarters, the group from before gathered around the dining table busy fine tuning their plan, the three Jedi and Senator focused on ironing out the last remaining kinks in their mission to rescue Breha.
"The ship is almost ready," Bly added. "So is the crew. If we prepare now, we could be back on Dromund Kaas in a matter of hours."
A cold, simmering rage festered deep in Padmé's core, the likes of which she had never felt before. Her thoughts churned relentlessly, circling back to what she had overheard from Obi-Wan's comlink—Anakin's comlink. If she wasn't so angry, the unfamiliar onset of rage might have bothered her, but in her present frame of mind it merely steeled her resolve. "You sound nervous, Commander," she said.
"No – not nervous, my lady," Bly replied. "Just cautious."
Her mind firmly made up, she raised her chin in defiance. "I am not changing my mind," Padmé insisted.
Bly turned to her then, worry deepening his dark eyes. "He's... not going to be happy."
"Good," Padmé said. She regarded the disguised trooper at her side and stared at him deadpan. "He is not supposed to be."
A nudge from her belly alerted her to the group. Padmé glanced up, saw Bail looking at her. Their eyes met. The Senator curtly excused himself from the group and started over.
Bail glanced sidelong at Bly, then purposely inserted himself between her and the trooper. "Are you sure you want to go ahead with this, Padmé?" he asked.
She thankfully hadn't needed to explain the situation to Bail, her sudden return to his quarters being explanation enough. And now, obviously concerned over the likely repercussions for her actions, what he was really asking was if she was prepared for the fallout.
Padmé steeled her gaze on the senator and crossed her arms. "I am not some package to be bartered or exchanged."
Bail closed his mouth and stiffly nodded. He seemed suddenly uneasy in her presence. He averted his gaze and looked down. "I do not wish to sound ungrateful for your support," he said, his voice quiet – uncertain, "but I am worried for your safety. What if this rescue does not go to plan? What if he's waiting for you when we arrive?"
The conversation she'd overheard between Anakin and the bounty hunter replayed in her head. Just the memory of it was enough to spike her already racing heart. Padmé clenched her jaw tight. "He won't be."
"Are you sure?" asked Bail.
Padmé scowled at the senator. "I do know my own husband, Bail."
The statement came out more aggressive than she had intended it to. Bail flinched at her response, seemed to shrink in size before her. He met her angered gaze and nodded.
"Yes... I suppose you would," Bail admitted. He then looked to Bly, his face turning ashen when he noticed the disguised trooper preparedly tapping his blaster and shifting his stance, as if he had only just realised the soldier was there on her Sith husband's orders.
"Well..." Bail started, taking a cautious step back, "I guess I should get back to the others. We need to rethink the plan now you are joining us. And the bounty hunter will be calling back any moment."
Padmé nodded. "I will come with you. I have unique insight that may be of use."
• • •
"You idiot!" Obi-Wan yelled. "You ignorant, arrogant, stupid IDIOT!"
Blinded and stunned into silence, Vader stood paralysed beside the bed in the wake of Obi-Wan's scolding, the raw power behind his former master's outburst hitting him like a punch.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Obi-Wan continued, his anger still prevalent. "Do you think I would've interrupted you if it wasn't important?"
Still stupefied, Vader stared at him. His head was spinning, the older Jedi's words muffled as if being spoken under water. The headache was gone. Replaced by a gaping, cavernous void – the hollowed-out space in his mind rapidly being filled by Obi-Wan.
"Are you even listening to me?"
Vader closed his eyes, tried to focus. All he could feel... all he could sense... was Obi-Wan. His former master's presence, a power suddenly so dominating, was pulsating in the Force like a bomb waiting to go off.
"ANAKIN!"
That did it. He instantly snapped to attention. Feeling, more than hearing Obi-Wan's command.
"Can you hear me in there?"
He felt a heavy rap across his helmet, like someone had just knocked on it. Insulted, Vader crossed his arms and glowered at the Jedi. "I heard you."
Obi-Wan crossed his arms in kind. "Then why aren't you responding?"
"I was..." Vader let his words trail off and slipped back into thought, turned to face the transparisteel balcony doors and gazed blindly outside.
He felt odd. Obi-Wan's powerful emotions were overwhelming his senses. And to make matters more confusing, he could no longer feel the presence of his master inside his head. Ever since the failed dyad attempt, he'd felt tethered to his master. Like whatever had happened had left a connection open between them through the Force. Now that connection was gone.
"I spoke to Padmé," Obi-Wan said, his voice calmer, closer. He was standing behind him, he could see his reflection in the door.
Vader nodded, squeezed his folded arms tighter, felt the respirator fill his chest. "Indeed," he murmured.
"She asked to speak with you," said Obi-Wan. He had his anger back under control now, he could feel the shift. "She was worried."
Vader snorted at that. "I'm sure she was."
Obi-Wan's temper spiked at his nonchalance. "You know why she was calling, don't you," he accused.
"Yes," Vader said simply. "Though, I doubt you do. Not truly."
He wasn't stupid. Padmé had only called because he had forced her hand. Any decision she made after that moment had absolutely nothing to do with her concern for him, and everything to do with her desire to protect Breha. Once again, only calling because she wanted something from him.
"Padmé was still on my com when you choked me, Anakin. She heard everything you and that blasted bounty hunter said." The Jedi huffed loudly and dragged his hand through his hair. "What were you thinking?"
The many events leading up to the moment he'd awoken to an empty bed replayed in Vader's mind. He stiffened, ground his jaw. "I will not be made a fool of, Obi-Wan," he snarled, forcing the words out from between his gritted teeth.
"Why not just confront him? Why go to all this effort to have his wife..." Obi-Wan stopped short, and a strange sensation eddied from him through the Force. There was a sudden clarity in his presence, like he'd just solved some puzzle that had been bothering him for months.
"You weren't allowed to confront Bail, were you," Obi-Wan said, as if he'd reached in and plucked the truth straight from his mind. "Palpatine forbade you from going near him, didn't he? After your little interrogation stunt on Alderaan."
Furious, Vader growled and whirled to face the Jedi, violently stabbed at the air between them with his finger. "Organa stole my daughter," he spat. "Now he intends to steal my wife!"
Obi-Wan gave him that typical disapproving stare. "Really, Anakin?" he said condescendingly. "And I suppose Palpatine was the one to tell you that. If that's what you truly believe then you are more far gone than I thought."
"Don't patronise me, Obi-Wan," Vader snarled. Images of Organa taking Padmé's hand in the senate hall before him filled his mind's eye. The respirator was suddenly too loud in his ears. Fighting to hold himself together, he turned around to face the transparisteel, dropped his hands to his sides and balled them into fists. "You weren't there," Vader said lowly, carefully, barely managing to contain the pain building inside. "You did not see... what I saw."
Silence filled the space between them, interrupted only by the echoing rasp of his breathing. In the reflection in the transparisteel, Vader watched Obi-Wan's expression turn vacant, as if he was watching something off in the distance.
After a long moment, the Jedi sighed. "I'm sorry, Anakin," Obi-Wan apologised. "I understand how hard that must have been for you."
Raising a sceptical brow inside the mask, Vader slowly turned around. "What did you say?"
Obi-Wan looked to him in confusion. "Did you not just show me what happened at the Senate grand vocational hall?"
Fists tightly clenched, Vader took one menacing stride forward. "I did no such thing."
"Well, I don't know what else to tell you," said Obi-Wan. "I saw, felt, and heard everything, as if I was standing in your place. And to be honest, the whole experience was rather unsettling."
First with the insults. Then, blasting him so hard with the Force, he would no doubt cop a beating from his master. And now he was digging around inside his head, sifting through his memories like he was his own personal holo-drama network. Well, not anymore. He was done with this conversation.
Using the bulk of his body weight as a battering ram, Vader hip and shouldered his way past Obi-Wan and left for the sitting room. He strode to his desk, retrieved his cloak from the back of the chair and secured it around his neck.
"Wait!" Obi-Wan called out, following after him. "Can't we talk about this?"
"No!" Vader snarled back. He snatched up the half-drunk bottle of whiskey from his desk and turned to leave.
"Anakin!"
Grinding his teeth, Vader froze at his former master's Force-imbued command. He slowly, and purposefully turned in place. Silently glared at the Jedi.
Cautiously, Obi-Wan approached him. "Where are you going?"
He could sense Obi-Wan was not about to let it go, was not prepared to give him space enough to sort his thoughts. In the mood he was in, that was a very dangerous game. "To clear my head," Vader hissed.
"With that bottle?" Obi-Wan countered, and again there was that tone of disapproval. He stopped roughly one metre away. Almost within arm's reach. "Why won't you talk to me?"
He didn't want to talk, he felt violated. Like the sanctity of his own mind had been invaded and was no longer safe. It was bad enough that his master had gone on some blood-lust fuelled rampage inside his head and torn it apart, now Obi-Wan was doing it too? "You seem quite comfortable reading my mind, Obi-Wan," Vader said. "Why don't you tell me."
"What? No, Anakin," Obi-Wan protested. Still he was denying it. "I didn't do anything. I assumed you must have wanted to show me."
"I showed you nothing!" Vader roared, his robotic voice booming, the pain and anger slipping free of his grasp and finally taking hold. The dark side coiled and twisted around him. "But I can," he warned.
Vader extended his hand, clenching the invisible strands of the Force that tethered him to Obi-Wan. He could feel the Jedi's resistance, his futile attempt to push back, but Vader was stronger.
The connection snapped taut, and Vader dragged.
The room disappeared.
Fire consumed everything.
Vader was there again, lying broken on the banks of the lava river. His ruined body seared with unimaginable pain, the heat clawing at him, melting his flesh, charring his limbs. He was a husk, a creature unrecognizable even to himself.
He could see Obi-Wan standing above him, the bright blue of his lightsaber extinguished now, his silhouette a mockery of serenity. Vader's hate surged, filling the void that the pain couldn't reach.
"You were my brother, Anakin!" Obi-Wan's voice thundered over the crackling of the lava. "I loved you."
The words echoed, but they were hollow, as empty as Vader's chest. Loved me? he thought bitterly. No, you destroyed me.
From the ground, Vader's hand clawed at the ashen sand, desperate for purchase. His gaze burned through the flames, locking onto Obi-Wan's face. He could have helped me. He could have saved me.
But Obi-Wan didn't move.
He just stood there, his face painted with pity—pity that twisted the knife deeper than any blade could. And then he turned away.
Vader screamed.
The flames rose higher, embers swirling in the air like a blizzard of torment. Every nerve in his body burned, raw and exposed, each second an eternity. He screamed again, louder, his voice cracking as the pain surged anew. The lava hissed, licking at his legs, his arms, devouring what little was left.
"Help me!"
The words tore from his throat, a desperate plea that fell on deaf ears. Obi-Wan was already gone, his figure disappearing into the distance, silhouetted against the fiery horizon.
Vader was alone.
The fire engulfed him, consuming all that was left of Anakin Skywalker.
The memory shattered.
Vader stood over Obi-Wan, his gloved hand still extended, trembling from the intensity of the connection. The room was silent, save for the rhythmic rasp of his respirator. Obi-Wan was on the floor, his body hunched and trembling, his tear-stained face, pale and stricken with horror.
Vader's rage simmered, but the satisfaction he expected never came. Instead, there was only the hollow ache of the past, the ghost of the fire that still burned inside him. For a moment, he simply stared, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, his gaze locked on Obi-Wan's broken form.
"Now... you know," Vader said, his voice cold and detached, answering Obi-Wan's previous question as to why he refused to talk to him. Then, with a dramatic swirl of his cloak, he turned on his heel and strode for the passage.
• • •
Syrennè moved through the twisted maze of underground corridors like a ghost, drawn unerringly toward the crackling thunderstorm in the Force that was her master.
When Obi-Wan had left to join her master in the bedroom, she'd lingered restlessly outside the door, watching Sabé and Aleria tend to the twins on the sofa. She'd waited, tense, for the inevitable fallout. The very instant their voices had risen in argument, Sabé and Aleria had scooped up the children and disappeared, leaving her alone to retreat to her master's comm-room.
Everyone knew the unspoken rule: when Obi-Wan and her master started arguing, it was best to make yourself scarce. You could never predict who would lash out first.
Now, the fight was over, and the Force around her felt shattered, like the crumpled ruins of a city torn apart by an unrelenting cyclone.
Reaching the hangar bay door, she paused, drawn toward it by an invisible pull. Stretching out into the Force, she sought her master's presence—and found him.
With a wave of her hand, the hangar door whooshed open, and the rumbling sound of engines echoed through the cavernous space. Taking a deep breath, Syrennè stepped inside, the door sliding shut behind her.
Ahead, a white, tri-winged Imperial shuttle sat folded and idling on the platform, its blue repulsor-lights casting an ethereal glow in the darkness. She approached cautiously, her master's presence growing stronger and more turbulent with each step. But as she reached the ship's front, the sensation changed.
Abruptly, his presence dulled, like a flame smothered under a heavy shroud.
Her heart quickened. He was always an emotional wreck after fighting with Obi-Wan. Sometimes he'd be subdued—even teary—evident in the uneven wobble of his voice. But more often, he drowned in a consuming rage so intense that even his beloved wife couldn't reach him.
Yet, no matter his state, his presence had always burned in the Force like a sun: fierce, overwhelming, impossible to ignore. Never before had it weakened like this.
Unease propelled her forward. Activating the boarding ramp, she bolted inside.
The first thing she noticed was the oppressive pressure. The shuttle's life-support systems seemed overclocked, saturating the air with oxygen so rich it made her head spin. Dizzy and disoriented, she staggered through the passenger cabin, steadying herself against the walls.
The space was empty. All the lights were off, the seats vacant. Turning around, still clinging to the wall for balance, she headed toward the cockpit.
And there he was.
Helmetless, slumped in the pilot's seat, his head tilted back. One arm hung limply over the armrest, an empty whiskey bottle dangling precariously from his gloved hand.
"Master?" Syrennè whispered, her voice barely audible. She didn't want to startle him.
He didn't stir. Quietly, she edged closer, stopping at the back of the co-pilot's seat. Her breath caught as she realized he was fast asleep.
Her gaze lingered on his face, her heart pounding. She had never been this close to him without the mask before. The scars across his scalp were stark in the dim light, but his features remained hauntingly familiar.
Her fingers twitched with an unbidden desire. The urge to reach out and touch him was almost unbearable. To trace the thick, blonde lashes resting against his skin, to follow the path of the battle-scar that cut through his brow and down his cheek. Her eyes settled on his lips, and a strange hunger gnawed at her. The thought alone made her mouth water.
Syrennè froze, caught between fascination and unease as she studied his face. She could feel the intoxication radiating from him—sharp, like broken glass in the Force. The rich oxygen filling the shuttle only amplified his inebriation, and in this state, he looked startlingly vulnerable.
As she reached out to steady herself against the co-pilot's chair, Vader stirred. His breathing hitched, the rasp of air passing through his damaged lungs. Slowly, his eyelids fluttered open, and Syrennè took a startled step back. She shifted uneasily, ready to retreat, but before she could move, the whiskey bottle clattered to the floor and his hand shot out, grabbed her wrist.
Syrennè felt his grip tighten, the strength of it undeniable yet lacking the usual malice she associated with her master. His blue eyes, achingly vivid, stared into hers with a longing so raw it sent a chill down her spine.
"Padmé."
The word, whispered like a prayer, stirred something dangerous in her. She hesitated, the logical part of her mind screaming at her to pull away, to leave him in this vulnerable state. But another part of her—the part that had been longing and desperate to connect—recognized this as her chance.
Darth Malgus had told her of the abilities she possessed. He'd called her a Siren. That with proper training she would be able to bend anyone to her will, even her own master, simply by using the Force to appear to them as the object of their desires. Her master's drunken vulnerability and the storm of emotions swirling in the Force presented him as an easy target. If she played her cards right, she could solidify her position, perhaps even draw him closer than anyone had dared.
Closing her eyes, she drew on the dark side, allowing her powers to radiate outward. The shift was subtle but potent, the Force wrapping around her like an invisible shroud. She leaned forward slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm here, Ani," she said, using the familiar moniker she'd overheard his wife call him, and letting her words drip with tenderness.
Vader's eyes softened, his breath catching as he pulled her closer onto his lap and secured her in place with his arm across her waist. "Padmé," he murmured again, his voice hoarse and trembling. "I've missed you..."
Syrennè felt a pang of guilt deep in her chest, but she pushed it aside, maintaining the illusion. She tilted her head slightly, craned her neck to glance back over her shoulder to see him, her lips parting as she gazed into his eyes. "I've missed you too."
For a moment, he simply held her, his forehead pressing against the back of her head, his breath warm against her skin. But then, his hand tightened around her waist, and his lips moved to her neck.
Syrennè stiffened as he nuzzled against her skin, his warm lips brushing against her collarbone, a low hum escaping him as he whispered, "You came back to me."
Her stomach twisted, the heat of his breath sending shivers down her spine. She'd been prepared for his affection, for the touch of a man consumed by desire. But this... this was different.
Syrennè's pulse quickened as Vader's ungloved hand drifted lower, the rough warmth of his fingers brushing against the bare skin of her thigh beneath the panel of her skirt. Her breathing hitched, and she felt the sharp tug of desire coil in her chest, but beneath it was a rising tide of alarm.
"Master," she murmured, her voice trembling with a mix of emotions. Her fingers hovered over his arm, unsure whether to pull him closer or push him away.
Vader's head tilted, his lips brushing against her ear as he exhaled a low, almost pained groan. "I need you, Padmé," he whispered, his voice filled with longing and intoxicated vulnerability.
The name struck Syrennè like a physical blow, and she stiffened in his lap. The spell she'd woven, the careful manipulation of his desires, had worked too well. For a fleeting moment, she'd revelled in the thought of being wanted, craved by him. But it wasn't her he wanted. It was Padmé.
The hand on her thigh pressed higher, crept toward her underwear, his touch rough yet achingly tender. His other arm tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Syrennè's heart thundered in her chest as she felt the unmistakable stir of his arousal beneath her.
She swallowed hard, her mind racing. "Master," she tried again, louder this time, her tone firmer.
Vader hummed softly in response, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of her neck. His breath was warm and laced with the sharp tang of whiskey. Syrennè shivered, her body betraying her resolve even as her mind screamed at her to stop this before it went any further.
Mind frantically scrambling for a way to stop him, she thought back on the many times she'd heard Obi-Wan call to him, remembered the way her master would freeze in place as if compelled to obey. She drew deep on the Force, hoping to use it to amplify her words.
"Anakin!" she said sharply, thrusting her power toward Vader, her voice cutting through the haze like a blade.
That did it. Her master froze, his movements stilling completely. For a moment, the cockpit was deathly silent, save for the hum of the shuttle's systems and the sound of their ragged breathing.
Slowly, Vader's head lifted, and his bleary blue eyes met hers in the reflection of the shuttle's viewport. The cerulean depths, so reminiscent of the man he'd once been, flickered with confusion and pain. "Padmé...?" he mumbled, his brow furrowing as he struggled to focus.
"No, Master," Syrennè said softly, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. "It's me. Syrennè."
The shift in his expression was subtle but immediate. The longing and tenderness evaporated, replaced by a dawning horror that clawed its way across his features. His grip on her loosened, and his hand fell away from her leg as if burned.
"Syrennè..." he rasped, his voice raw and choked with disbelief.
She slid off his lap, standing quickly to put distance between them. Her hands smoothed her skirt reflexively, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and shame. "You were drunk," she said, her voice carefully controlled. "You thought I was—"
"Enough," Vader snapped, his tone sharp and filled with self-loathing. He rose from the seat, turned and walked away from her, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders trembled, though whether from anger, humiliation, or something else entirely, she couldn't tell.
Syrennè lingered for a moment, unsure of what to say or do. She wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but the tension in the room was suffocating. Finally, she took a shaky step forward.
"I'm sorry, Master," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart.
Without waiting for a response, she turned and fled the cockpit, leaving Vader alone.