Negotiations with the Sand People Chieftain were excruciatingly slow.
It wasn't just the language barrier – though HK-47's gleeful way of twisting every translation into something unnecessarily aggressive certainly didn't help – it was the sheer suspicion in the Chieftain's stance. Even without being able to see his eyes behind the mask, Seth could feel the weight of the scrutiny.
It took several minutes of careful back-and-forth before they even reached the topic of captives.
"Translation," HK-47 droned. "This particular meatbag was not a warrior. He was caught sneaking into their territory, talking loudly to himself, and attempting to steal bantha fodder. The Chieftain assures you it was deeply pathetic."
Seth blinked. "Bantha fodder?"
Bastila folded her arms. "That certainly sounds like Griff."
"I want to see him." Seth's voice was low, determined.
The Chieftain's shoulders stiffened. Another series of barks and growls.
HK-47 tilted his head. "Statement: The Chieftain does not see the purpose in showing you the prisoner. He is unimportant. A thief. A nuisance."
Seth kept his voice even. "He is important to someone I care about."
Another long pause. The Sand People had already been patient with them longer than expected. But after one final, begrudging snarl, the Chieftain barked an order.
One of the guards grunted in response and motioned toward a small enclosure near the back of the settlement.
HK-47 perked up. "Statement: Oh! It appears you have been granted an audience with the meatbag thief. But only one of you may approach."
Seth took a slow breath. Then, he turned to Bastila.
"I'll go."
She hesitated, obviously weighing the risk.
"Let him," Jolee muttered. "The kid's got a decent head on his shoulders."
Seth shot him a grateful glance before turning back to Bastila. "If this is Griff, I need to see him for myself. Before we make any deals."
Bastila studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Be careful."
He nodded briefly before allowing himself to be escorted down the halls of the enclave to where the Sand People kept their captives. The prison pen was little more than a wooden cage, half-buried in the sand. The wind had carved deep grooves into the beams, and the relentless Tatooine heat had dried the wood to the point that it looked fragile enough to snap under pressure. The smell of bantha musk lingered in the air, likely from the large herd penned up just a few meters away.
Inside the cage, half-sprawled against the wall, was a dust-covered Twi'lek.
Seth's first thought was that Mission would barely recognize him.
Griff's rutian-blue skin was dull from a month of exposure to the elements, his lekku caked in sand and grime where they draped over his shoulders. His tunic, once a vibrant shade of red, was faded and torn, its sleeves rolled up past his elbows, revealing scratches from weeks-old abrasions. His boots were scuffed to hell, the laces frayed beyond repair, and his belt was missing entirely, forcing him to hitch up his trousers every time he shifted position.
But he wasn't starving. He wasn't injured.
The Sand People had given him just enough water to keep him alive. Just enough food to make sure he didn't die on them.
Yet, judging by the way he was muttering to himself – and attempting to scratch tally marks into the wooden post using a loose rock – he wasn't particularly grateful for that fact.
Seth could hear him mumbling under his breath, his voice dry and cracking from dehydration.
"…just need the right moment… show 'em what I can do… convince the chief I'm an asset… play the long game, that's what Griff Vao does…"
Seth raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me."
He exhaled sharply and stepped forward.
"Griff Vao."
The Twi'lek froze mid-tally, shoulders stiffening. Then, slowly, he turned.
For a moment, his sharp blue eyes flicked over Seth like he was assessing a business deal. Then, he did something Seth hadn't expected.
He grinned.
"Finally," Griff said, leaning back against the wooden bars as if Seth were his rescue team arriving right on schedule. "Took you guys long enough. You Czerka?"
Seth blinked. "No."
Griff's grin didn't falter.
"Well, that's fine, too. You Republic? Mercs? Wait – don't tell me – Hutts sent you? No, no, you're too clean for Hutt muscle. Alright, pal, cards on the table – who do I gotta thank for my ticket outta here?"
Seth folded his arms. "You do realize you're in a cage, right?"
Griff waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah. Just a minor setback."
"A minor setback."
"I got this all under control."
Seth could physically feel his patience leaving his body. "Enlighten me," he deadpanned.
Griff gestured vaguely around the enclosure. "It's all about strategy. These guys? They're just misunderstood. They'll come around eventually. Any day now, they're gonna realize they could use a guy like me."
Seth stared. "A guy like you."
"Exactly." Griff winked as if that explained everything.
Seth exhaled sharply through his nose, pinching the bridge of it with his thumb and forefinger.
This was the man Mission had idolized.
This was the hero she had desperately clung to in her childhood, the man she had always believed would come back for her.
A self-serving, completely delusional, undeniable idiot.
Seth forced himself to unclench his jaw.
I am doing this for Mission. I am doing this for Mission.
Griff narrowed his eyes. "Hold on, hold on," he muttered, his expression shifting slightly. "You said my name like you know me."
Seth let the silence hang.
He watched as Griff's mind turned over the pieces, eyes darting from Seth's youth to his clothing to the lightsaber hilt clipped at his belt.
When realization dawned, it was almost comical.
"Oh," Griff said slowly, sitting up. "Ohhhhh. I get it now."
Seth braced himself.
Griff's face split into a wide grin.
"You're Mission's boyfriend, aren't you?"
Seth choked.
"What?"
"Yeah, yeah, that makes sense!" Griff snapped his fingers. "I mean, you're a kid, but you've got that scrappy look. Mission always liked those big, heroic types. What'd you do? Save her from a pack of Rakghouls? She always said that'd be the fastest way to her heart."
Griff's grin remained as he leaned back against the wooden bars, but there was a slight shift in his posture now – an edge of intrigue that hadn't been there before. His lekku twitched slightly, as if working through a thought just on the edge of forming.
"So," he mused, running a hand across his chin, his fingers dusting off a layer of grit. "You're with Mission, huh?"
Seth didn't react. "I'm here because the Sand People want you gone."
Griff's smirk widened. "Right, right. But let's circle back to the important part – you and Mission. Didn't think she was the type to settle down."
Seth's jaw tightened. It was one thing to deal with Griff's general level of self-serving idiocy. It was another thing entirely to hear him talk about Mission like that.
But Griff didn't seem to notice. Instead, he tilted his head, his expression turning thoughtful. "You know… this actually works for me," he said slowly, as if he were only just now seeing the opportunity before him. "Mission's your girl, right? That means you'd do anything for her."
Seth felt it immediately.
The pivot.
The calculation.
The way Griff's tone had shifted – oily, charming, carefully measured.
It was the same easy confidence that Seth had seen in wannabe gangsters back on Coruscant – con artists who survived by keeping one hand in their opponent's pocket and the other holding a knife behind their back.
The realization settled deep in Seth's gut.
Mission never stood a chance against this.
She had been just a kid when she'd built her entire world around this man. She had idolized someone who had never once thought about her future beyond what she could offer him in the moment. And now, here he was, about to do it again.
Seth exhaled sharply through his nose. "You should quit while you're ahead, Griff."
Griff laughed. "What? What'd I say?"
Seth crossed his arms, his expression cold. "If you're about to ask me for credits, a ship, or some ridiculous bail-out scheme, save your breath."
Griff's grin twitched slightly, just for a second – the first real crack in his confidence. Seth had seen through him too fast. And Griff knew it.
Still, the Twi'lek recovered quickly, adjusting his posture, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Whoa, relax! I was just gonna say – you don't strike me as the kind of guy who lets his girl cry herself to sleep over something he could fix."
Seth's fingers curled into fists.
Griff's eyes glinted. "Yeah. That's what I thought."
Seth felt his pulse slow to a heavy, deliberate rhythm.
He's baiting me.
And the worst part? It was working. Because Griff wasn't wrong.
Mission would would be devastated.
Because this was her brother.
And Seth had no right to make this decision for her.
That was the part that made him sick. Because he wanted to. He wanted to walk away from this pen, go back to Anchorhead, and tell her, "I'm sorry, Mish, but we were too late."
He wanted to spare her the inevitable heartbreak of seeing who Griff really was. But he couldn't. Because Mission deserved the truth.
Even if it broke her.
Even if Seth had to watch.
He took a slow, deep breath through his nose, forcing the tension out of his shoulders. Then, he looked Griff dead in the eye. "You're lucky she still gives a damn about you," Seth said flatly.
Griff's smirk widened, triumphant.
Seth wasn't done.
"But if you screw her over again, I'll make sure the next people you piss off don't leave you breathing."
Griff's smirk froze. For one brief second, his easy charm flickered. Then, just as quickly, it returned – full force. "Hey, relax, kid," Griff chuckled, running a hand across the back of his neck. "We're all friends here, right?"
Seth didn't answer. Instead, he turned to the nearest Sand Person, beckoning HK over for translation. "Take us back to the Chieftain," he said firmly. "And we'll work out a way to get this guy off your hands."
The Sand Person growled in agreement.
Griff blinked. "Wait. What?"
Seth exhaled. Mission was going to hate him for this. For bringing Griff back. For seeing through him first. For making the choice before she had the chance to.
But at least she'd have that chance.
And that was worth something.
The Chieftain's low, guttural growl rumbled through the dim chamber, his posture relaxed yet authoritative. He wasn't angry. Just… annoyed.
HK-47 stood at Seth's side, his photoreceptors glowing bright in the dim chamber. The droid emitted a thoughtful hum before translating, his tone laced with the usual delightful contempt.
"[Statement: The mighty Chieftain declares this pathetic meatbag unworthy of his tribe's steel. He is not a warrior, nor a challenge, nor even a satisfying execution. His existence is tolerated only because watching him grovel amuses them.]"
Seth resisted the urge to drop his face into his hands. Fantastic. Griff wasn't even important enough to be a prisoner.
HK turned to him, then back to the Chieftain, tilting his head before continuing.
"[Proposal: The Chieftain would very much like this sniveling sack of flesh removed immediately. He will provide you with tactical data in exchange – primitive star maps, local landmarks, and, if you are lucky, perhaps some useful parting insults.]"
HK shifted slightly, adding in a lower, almost conspiratorial tone:
"[Observation: It is a merciful trade. Personally, I would have suggested a fire-based disposal method. But alas, diplomacy prevails.]"
Seth let out a slow breath. "Yeah. We'll take him."
Griff, who had been slouched at the back of the pen, perked up immediately. "Hey now, that's more like it! You and I are gonna get along just fine, kid."
Seth didn't look at him. Didn't acknowledge him. He kept his gaze fixed on the Chieftain, silent and unreadable.
A sharp inhale came from behind him.
Bastila had been watching him closely.
She knew Seth was good at keeping his emotions in check – too good, sometimes. But this was different. This wasn't the quiet, restrained calculation of a soldier processing his next move.
This was tension.
It was the subtle way his jaw clenched and his fists curled at his sides. The way he exhaled slowly, measured, like he was forcing himself not to react.
She had seen this before.
Not often. Just… moments. Fleeting glimpses. When Seth talked about the gangs on Coruscant. When he saw innocent people suffering under the Sith. When he thought no one was paying attention.
And now, when he was being forced to deal with someone who had clearly hurt someone he cared about.
It unsettled her.
Not because she feared what he would do, but because she understood how much it cost him to do nothing.
A familiar ache settled in her chest. She should say something. A word of caution. A reminder to let go.
But what right did she have to tell him that?
So instead, she did the only thing she could – she stood beside him.
The Chieftain gave a dismissive wave, and one of the younger warriors stepped forward, pressing a rolled-up map into Seth's waiting hands. He took it with a firm nod, securing it in his belt before turning on his heel.
"Come on," he muttered, already heading for the exit.
Griff scrambled to his feet, dusting off his clothes as he followed with an easy grin. "Man, wait till Mission hears about all the trouble you went through just to save my ass."
Seth didn't slow his pace. Didn't look back.
And neither did Bastila.
But she didn't stop watching him.
The trek across the dunes back to Anchorhead felt longer than the initial journey to the Sand People's enclave. Seth blamed Griff.
The older Twi'lek hadn't stopped talking since they cut him loose. He barely acknowledged the fact that they had to negotiate his release – instead, he acted as if his natural charisma had won over the Sand People. And in true Griff Vao fashion, he had somehow convinced himself that he'd had the situation handled the entire time.
"I mean, honestly? They weren't that bad," Griff mused, dusting sand off his sleeves as they walked. "If you can get past the whole, kidnapping and random acts of murder thing, I'd say we had a pretty good arrangement going. I mean, sure, they kept me in a cage, but they also let me tell them stories! You'd be surprised how much a primitive culture like that appreciates a good Griff Vao original – "
Seth exhaled through his nose. Loudly. "Griff, they wanted you gone so badly that they cut us a deal just to take you with us."
Griff waved him off like he hadn't just admitted to being an unwanted burden. "Semantics, kid. I was, uh, running my own little operation in there, actually! They were – " he paused dramatically, grinning, " – interested in doing a little business with me."
Bastila arched a brow. "Let me guess. A scam?"
"Whoa, whoa – harsh words from a Jedi," Griff chuckled. "I prefer to think of it as creative financing. Look, you wouldn't believe how much Tatooine's hottest new beverage was about to take off! You guys ever heard of Tarisian Ale? Well, I was working on something even better. A top-tier, high-class drink for all the social elite here in the desert."
Seth shot him a deadpan look. "You were trying to sell them alcohol."
"Not just alcohol!" Griff wagged a finger as if Seth were missing the brilliance of his plan. "A revolutionary new brew! Desert Brew – because, you know, it's brewed in the desert? They were gonna be my first investors! But the chieftain didn't appreciate my genius, so, well… here we are."
Seth dragged a hand down his face. Unbelievable.
Even Bastila, who normally took pride in being composed and above petty arguments, let out a scoffing laugh. "You pitched a business idea to the Sand People?"
"I know, right?" Griff sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "They're totally missing out. But hey, what do you expect from a bunch of moisture-hating, sun-blasted murder hobos? They don't know a good opportunity when they see one."
Seth felt his irritation spike. "So let me get this straight," he said, keeping his tone cool. "You were locked up in a cage for over a month, and your first thought wasn't 'how do I get out of here?' but 'how do I turn this into a business deal?'"
"Gotta make a living, kid," Griff said easily. "Speaking of – which – " He turned his golden eyes onto Seth, his expression suddenly curious. "You've got that look about you. Sharp. A little rough around the edges. Let me guess – you're some kind of mercenary? No, no – smuggler."
Seth stared at him. Was he serious?
Griff grinned. "Okay, let me guess again. You're ex-military. You got that Republic look about you – whatcha do, huh? Ship pilot? Infantry? Special forces?"
Seth was seconds from telling him off when Bastila subtly stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. It was a small gesture – but the meaning was clear.
Breathe.
Seth exhaled, rolling his shoulders before giving Griff the barest of responses. "I'm a Jedi."
Griff blinked. Then laughed. "Oh, come on. You're kidding."
Seth's expression didn't change.
Then Griff dropped the line that shattered his last thread of patience.
"A Jedi, huh?" Griff mused, glancing at Seth. "Man, how'd my sister manage to wrangle herself a Jedi for a boyfriend?"
Seth's steps slowed.
Bastila, already attuned to his mood, noticed instantly.
Griff, oblivious, grinned like he'd just uncovered some grand secret. "I mean, don't get me wrong – Mish has always been a smart kid, got a way of talking people into things. But I gotta say, you're a whole different league, hotshot. You know what you're getting yourself into, right?"
Seth stared straight ahead, jaw set. "I know exactly who she is."
Griff let out a mock whistle, shaking his head. "Never would've figured. My kid sister and a Jedi. Man, I'd say I'm impressed, but I've seen that girl sweet-talk her way into better deals than most Outer Rim merchants."
Seth's hands curled into fists.
Bastila, walking beside him, was watching closely now.
Griff's chuckle was casual, his words not so much. "She always was good at getting what she wanted."
Seth's patience snapped.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
The sudden halt forced Bastila to stop, too. Griff took a few extra steps before noticing and turning back.
"Something wrong, Jedi?" he asked, brows raised.
Seth's voice was cool, but lethal underneath. "Yeah. Something's wrong."
Griff blinked, suddenly less sure of himself. "Whoa, hey – what's with the attitude? I'm just saying, Mish has got a way with people. She's tough. Knows how to play the game. You don't think she – ?"
Seth stepped forward.
Not angrily. Not aggressively. Just deliberately.
Griff shut up immediately.
Seth's voice was low, controlled. "Mission is not playing me. And you don't get to talk about her like she is."
A tense silence stretched between them.
Griff cleared his throat, holding his hands up placatingly. "Alright, alright. No need to get all dramatic. Just making an observation. No harm in that."
Seth didn't move.
Griff shifted uneasily, finally breaking eye contact. "Man, you Jedi types really take things seriously, huh?"
Beside Seth, Bastila's arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her expression unreadable. But Seth could feel the sharp edge of her concern through their bond.
She didn't speak – but she didn't have to.
"You done?" Seth asked coolly.
Griff tilted his head. "I dunno. That depends – "
Seth's voice was sharp as durasteel. "You're not gonna use her. Not me. Not us. Whatever scam you're thinking about running – you can drop it. Right now."
Griff's grin finally faltered. A quiet stretched between them.
For the first time since cutting him loose, Griff Vao had nothing to say.
The last time she saw Griff, she was ten years old. He'd ruffled her lekku, told her to be strong, and promised he'd be right back.
That was six years ago.
Now, here he was. Right in front of her. Mission felt like she couldn't breathe. For a split second, everything else – the heat, the noise, the weight of the last few days – faded away.
She barely noticed Seth and Bastila flanking Griff on either side.
All she saw was him.
Her brother.
She took a shaky step forward. Then another. And then she was running.
"Griff!" Before he could react, she threw herself at him.
He let out a startled grunt, stumbling back as she wrapped her arms tightly around him. For a moment, Griff just stood there, as if he hadn't expected this level of emotion. Then, awkwardly, he patted her back. "Uh… hey, Mish."
Her eyes squeezed shut, and she let herself believe it was real.
She let herself pretend that this was the brother she remembered. The one who used to sneak her out of the apartment, take her to see the undercity lights, make her laugh even when things were bad.
But the moment her heart caught up to her head, something inside her wavered. His scent was wrong – not like home, not like anything familiar. And his hold on her felt… hesitant.
Like he wasn't sure what to do with her.
Mission pulled back just enough to look at him. He flashed that same lopsided grin, but there was something off about it. Like it wasn't meant for her. Like he was already lining up his next move.
Mission's stomach twisted. "I can't believe it," she murmured.
Griff smirked, brushing dust off his borrowed Czerka uniform. "Yeah, me neither. Here I thought you'd still be stuck on Taris. Guess I underestimated my little sister, huh?"
The words should've meant something.
They didn't.
Mission stepped back, suddenly uncertain. Six years. And now that she was standing here, face to face with him, she had no idea what to say.
Maybe Lena had been right. The thought made her nauseous.
She felt his presence at her side before she turned to look at him. He was quiet, green eyes carefully trained on her, not Griff.
Mission swallowed. "We should… we should probably catch up. Me and Griff."
Seth nodded once – but there was something else in his gaze. Something serious.
And then, before she could say anything else, he gently took her elbow and steered her away from Griff. Just a few steps. Just far enough that their voices wouldn't carry.
Mission blinked. "What – ?"
Seth's voice was low. "Mish, just – listen to me for a second."
A lump formed in her throat. She already knew what he was going to say.
"Don't let who you remember him being keep you from seeing who he actually is."
The words hit harder than they should have. Her first instinct was to push back – to tell him he didn't know Griff, didn't know what they'd been through together. But she couldn't.
Because the truth was, she didn't know either.
Not anymore.
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and she forced a shaky breath. "I hear you, Seth." Her voice was tight. "I do. But I need to figure this out myself."
Seth held her gaze for a long moment. Then, finally, he nodded. "I know."
Mission exhaled, some of the tension easing.
He wouldn't hold her back. But he wasn't going to pretend this was okay, either.
That meant everything.
Seth glanced over his shoulder, where Bastila stood waiting. "We still have the Star Map to find," he said carefully.
Mission's stomach twisted.
She should go with them. She should be there. She opened her mouth to say exactly that, but Seth cut her off before she could.
"You should stay, Mish."
Mission's brows furrowed. "But – "
"This is something I need to do with Bastila."
She turned to Bastila for confirmation. The Jedi regarded her calmly. "He's right."
Mission hesitated. Her gut told her to go – but if she left now, she'd never get this time back with Griff.
She looked back at Seth. His green eyes were steady – his way of telling her it was okay.
She sighed. "Fine. But if you guys end up dead in the Dune Sea, I'm gonna kill you."
Seth smirked. "Duly noted."
With one last look, he turned and headed back toward Bastila. Mission watched them leave, her chest tight.
As they disappeared into the marketplace, her fingers drifted to Seth's dog tags around her neck. She traced the etched lettering, grounding herself in the weight of it.
This wasn't a goodbye.
Not even close.
She'd see him again soon.
But until then…
This would be enough.