Bral Akk's den smelled of scorched wiring and damp rust. The walls pulsed faintly with coolant veins, and the air vibrated with the distant hum of fusion coils buried deep beneath the docking level. Dim glowpanels flickered intermittently, casting pale gold light over cluttered crates, half-disassembled droids, and spools of ancient starship cabling.
Eli's eyes darted across the room as they followed the Selkath deeper. Everything here felt temporary. Ready to vanish at a moment's notice. The way smugglers lived when they expected to be hunted.
"This place doesn't inspire confidence," Eli muttered under his breath.
"Smugglers don't trade in confidence," Ryen replied quietly. "They trade in desperation."
Bral Akk snorted ahead of them, overhearing. "We trade in opportunity, little Jedi. Yours, mine, and whoever pays most for either."
He led them into a tighter chamber near the back — a pressurized hold converted into a meeting room. The walls were lined with repulsor crates and faded banners from a dozen planetary syndicates. A navconsole flickered on the central table, displaying hyperspace lanes out of Coruscant and branching toward the Rim.
Eli stood still. Watching. Listening.
Bral leaned against the edge of the console, flicking through charts. "I've got a modified freighter warming up two decks down. Quiet engine. No registry. Can get you out if you've got the credits."
"We don't," Ryen said.
"But you owe us a debt," Eli added.
Bral's dark eyes narrowed slightly. "I owe your dead Master a favor. Not two Jedi fugitives."
Ryen stepped forward. "Tolar gave you access to safe ports during the war. You wouldn't have half your routes if she hadn't redirected those Republic patrols."
"And I paid her back," Bral snapped. "In fuel, credits, and blood. This?" He gestured at the two of them. "This is different. You're cargo with lightsabers and death warrants on your backs. Anyone moves you offworld right now gets a bounty on their head and a target on their ship."
Eli tilted his head slightly, gaze sharpening. "How much are they offering?"
Bral didn't answer immediately. He turned away, fiddling with a nearby console.
"Is that why you brought us in?" Ryen asked. His voice dropped an octave. "Stalling?"
The Selkath's back remained turned. "Just weighing my options."
Something shifted.
The Force stirred around Eli like a current changing direction. Ryen's stance tensed. His hand drifted closer to his belt, not to his saber — but toward the wall behind them.
Eli felt it too. Danger. Close. Intentional.
He stepped forward, tone casual. "You've already called them in, haven't you?"
Still no answer.
Ryen moved. Quick.
He reached out with the Force — not a push, not a strike. A grip. Invisible fingers closing around the Selkath's mind.
Bral stiffened, gills flaring.
"You're not selling us out," Ryen said quietly. "You're getting us out. Now."
The Selkath's body trembled, jaw tightening against the pressure. His hands flexed against the console.
Eli stepped closer, cloak shifting. "We don't want to kill you. But we'll bring this whole den down if we have to."
The console behind Bral blinked red. Incoming scan. Clone transponder. One deck above.
Ryen's grip in the Force tightened. "They're here."
"Damn it," Bral rasped. "Fine. Fine!"
He slammed a fist on the console. "Secondary lift! Back corridor! Go!"
Ryen released him.
The Selkath staggered back, hissing.
"You better pray this buys you time," Eli said coldly, already moving.
They dashed out the way they'd come, then veered down a narrow access chute half-concealed behind fuel canisters. Ryen moved fast, guiding Eli with instinct. Down one level, through a mag-locked hatch, into a dim freight bay where a battered freighter sat idling with engine lights low.
The clones were already breaching the upper level.
Eli heard the muffled stomp of boots. The metallic bark of orders.
"Ryen!" he called.
The older Padawan yanked open the freighter's side hatch. "Inside! Now!"
They sprinted across the durasteel floor, leaping onto the ramp as the first blaster bolt scorched the doorframe behind them. Ryen slammed the hatch shut and hit the manual override.
The ship rumbled.
Bral Akk's voice crackled through the cockpit intercom. "You better be grateful, Jedi. You just burned every favor I had left in this sector."
"We'll make it worth your while," Ryen said, dropping into the co-pilot's chair.
Eli didn't answer. He was already strapped in, eyes on the viewport as the freighter lifted. Pulse cannons flared from somewhere below, but the ship ducked between support pylons, weaving through the decrepit industrial lanes.
Then — open sky.
Well, not sky.
Smog-thick clouds and the shadowed canyon between spires, but it was freedom.
For now.
The ship veered into an outbound tunnel toward the mid-atmosphere lanes. Clone chatter crackled across their comms, but Bral killed it with a flick of his clawed fingers. "You'd better have a destination."
"Anywhere outside Republic reach," Ryen said.
"Then pray this jump works."
The navcomputer beeped. Coordinates locked. Hyperdrive charged.
Eli closed his eyes as stars stretched into lines.
The jump hit.
And the planet vanished behind them.
—
They didn't speak for a long time.
Not until the stars steadied.
Not until the shaking in their bones had time to settle.
Ryen finally exhaled. "That… could've gone worse."
"It will," Eli said quietly. "It always does."
He stood, gripping one of the railings.
Ryen looked at him, brow furrowed. "You knew something was off back there."
"I know patterns," Eli said. "I've seen that betrayal before. Different faces. Same outcome."
Ryen hesitated. "You talk like someone who's seen this more than once."
"I have."
Silence.
Then:
"How many times?"
Eli turned his head. His voice was barely audible.
"Too many."
And with that, he walked into the darkened corridor of the freighter, leaving Ryen staring after him — torn between disbelief and something worse.
Recognition.