Session export: Blood on the Ledger

Nar Shaddaa, Hutt Territory

Nearly three days had passed since they first docked at Nar Shaddaa, and the Captain’s Quarters carried the unmistakable evidence of it. The bed was a mess of tangled silk sheets, the fabric still faintly scented with smoke. Discarded clothing lay scattered across the floor— lace, leather, and fine silks alike, mixed with empty beverage glasses and the ashen remains of cigarras. Her muscles ached, pleasantly so, from all the various activities alongside Morgan for the past few days. Velira would have remained there without hesitation… curled into that space beside her lover, suspended in that haze of indulgence and closeness for far longer… had her hunger not begun to inevitably return.

It had crept in slowly at first, a dull ache at the edges of her senses, before shifting into something far more persistent. For the time being, Velira kept it at bay, by drawing upon the Force in careful tendrils to dull the sharper edges of the cravings. And yet, she knew it would not last forever.

Velira moved through the room with quiet precision, stepping over scattered garments as she searched. Eventually, she found what she was looking for— the leather pants, and the thigh high boots she had worn before their inevitable… detour. She pulled them on with practiced ease, followed by a form fitting black shirt. From Morgan’s collection, she selected a hooded cloak of black and crimson, one that was more suited for stealth, as stunning as the purple velvet one had been.

The crew, for their part, had known better than to intrude on the two of them. The only sign of their presence over the last few days had been the occasional tray of provisions left just outside the door, quietly delivered. Her gaze lifted, settling on Morgan, who was already dressed and waiting. In the dim light of the room, Velira’s crimson eyes seemed to glow more intensely now, the natural shadows that framed them deepened by her hunger.

The ship soon descended through the polluted atmosphere of Nar Shaddaa with a steady rumble, its massive frame cutting through layers of haze and artificial light. The Smuggler’s Moon sprawled beneath them, with endless towers of durasteel and neon signs unevenly rising from the planet’s surface. Traffic streamed in every direction, weaving through the narrow channels between skyscrapers. A wide landing platform jutted from the side of one of the larger structures, reinforced to accommodate ships of considerable size. The Kraken slowly descended with its landing thrusters roaring, as it settled into place with a heavy thud that passed through the entire ship.

Inside, the shift was immediate. As Velira and Morgan exited the Captain’s Quarters and stepped into the heart of the ship, the quiet isolation of the past days gave way to chaotic motion. For the first time in nearly a week, the crew was fully active with voices raised, commands shouted across corridors, and weapons quickly tossed to one another.

The docking ramp soon lowered with a deep mechanical rumble. Wind swept through the ship in a sudden gust, catching Velira’s long dark hair and pulling it back from her face and shoulders. Nar Shaddaa burned with artificial light as it lay before them, with flickering neon signs that casted the streets below into shifting hues of violet and gold. Smoke and steam curled rose slowly into the air, mixing with the haze that filled the sky.

Velira stepped forward slightly, her gaze sweeping across it all, taking in the sheer volume of presences that pulsed through the city. So much life essence. Her breath deepened, the expression across her features growing a touch sharper in response.

“I am… in need of some breakfast, it would appear,” Velira said slowly to the Captain , her voice low and composed, even if something beneath it had shifted. Her tongue passed slowly across her lower lip in anticipation. “I presume you know of a few ideal spots to acquire a… suitable meal?” She said, though her gaze remained fixed outwards, predatory in nature, as she let out a slow exhale.

Behind them, the stillness suddenly broke. The crew erupted into motion, their pent up energy spilling out all at once. Voices rose, hearty laughter followed, as the premise of Nar Shaddaa’s indulgences lit something within many of the crew members. A few began to bellow loudly at once another, forming plans to visit the various casinos, clubs filled to the brink with dancers, and cantinas alike for an evening of debauchery. Several were already drunk, half bottles in hand as they staggered down the ramp, stumbling towards the city.

And in the midst of it, three of them snapped into a disagreement, shoving one another as their voices began to raise along with a series of thrown curses, in the insistence that they would claim the next bounty for themselves. And yet, they were too far into their drinks to fully register the consequences. The tension snapped between them quickly, burly fists clenching and bodies squaring, as they teetered on the edge of growing violence.

Morgan moved before the first blow could land. She stepped between them, a smooth sense of unspoken authority following the motion as her presence cut through the chaos. The air shifted around her, something in it coiling. The piercing gaze of her fiery orange eye was enough to halt each of the arguing crew members mid motion, in hesitation.

“That’s enough,” Morgan snapped, crossing her arms. The men froze, whatever drunken bravado they had once carried, suddenly dissolving under the sharp edge of the Captain’s presence. They slowly backed off, muttering to themselves and angling towards city in opposite directions, in preparation to find other distractions to stumble towards.

Velira remained at Morgan’s side throughout it all, still and composed, a silent shadow beside her. Where the crew was loud, oftentimes chaotic, and rough edged, Velira had always stood in stark contrast— elegant poised, almost regal in her stillness from the first moment she’d stepped aboard the ship. Once the matter was settled, Morgan turned back toward her. “Miss Morvane,” she said, her tone shifting… still professional, but quieter now, with something subtler laced beneath it. “I believe I know a few places.”

They set off into the city soon after. Morgan did not attempt to hide herself, but neither did she intentionally draw unnecessary attention. Still, it found her, as it always did. A few heads cautiously turned as she passed by— some curious, some wary, and some in recognition. “Still as filthy as I remember,” Morgan muttered to herself, kicking a few empty cans out of her path with the heel her boot, not breaking stride.

Velira, however, had not remained beside her for long. With a subtle shift, she slipped away, her form blending into shadows as she moved with quiet, fluid precision. She ascended along low hanging scaffolds and half repaired structures, gliding across them with ease until she found a vantage point above. From there, she watched, her gaze calculating. Her crimson eyes swept the streets below, tracking the movements and noting patterns, as though to identify any possible threats within the Captain’s reach, before they could take shape. And though she remained unseen, Morgan could still feel her— faintly, through their shared connection and silk threads of the Force, a quiet presence at the edge of her awareness, yet still close.

Morgan pressed forward through the streets, her expression tightening as she took in the surroundings— the noise, the constant flow of bodies and commerce layered atop decay and glowing neon lights. Her distaste was evident. Eventually, she turned into a narrower alleyway, the noise of the main thoroughfare dulling slightly as they moved deeper within. At the far end stood an unassuming storefront, its flickering sign casting uneven light across the entrance. Only then did Velira drop back down, gliding lower and landing soundlessly beside Morgan, the cloak flowing smoothly behind her with the motion.

They stepped inside, to what appeared to currently be a furniture shop, and an old one at that. Rows of finely crafted bed frames lined the space, their materials clearly imported from all across the galaxy—polished woods, rare metals, and intricate designs. Mattresses of varying quality rested nearby, alongside bookshelves, various decorative furnishings, and scattered sculptures placed with little regard for organization. At best, it was eclectic.

Morgan’s gaze flicked toward Velira, catching the subtle shift in her attention with mild amusement. Naturally, Velira’s focus had already found the sculptures—lingering briefly on one in particular, a carefully carved keeradak, before her awareness sharpened again, sweeping the room with quiet precision.

Two Ewoks moved about the shop, both clad in thick black leather landspeeder racing vests that looked far too large for them, embellished with metal spikes. One was smaller, his arm partially shaved to reveal exposed cybernetics— metal replacing what muscle once had been, the remaining skin etched with scattered tattoos. The other was larger and more muscular for his species, muttering something under his breath as he adjusted a display, the two of them working in tandem. Morgan stepped closer to Velira for a moment, her voice lowering as she leaned just enough to murmur near her ear. “Not everything is as it seems, Miss Morvane.”

Behind a large front desk stood the shop’s apparent owner. A Gamorrean— polished, composed, and dressed in a finely tailored suit. He idly flipped through a deck of cards with surprising dexterity, though his gaze never once left where Morgan and Velira stood. He looked at them both, with something close to the scrutiny, yet just as quickly masked by his well mannered politeness. “Hello. Welcome to Thragmere Porcivane’s Fine Furnishings. Are you two looking for anything particular today? We do indeed have quite the selection of beds and decor to choose from,” He began, with a strong Core Worlds accent carried through each word.

Her red eyes visibly narrowed at the sight of the Hutt, her black glossed lips subtly pursing into an expression of disgust, one that was fleeting but unmistakable. It vanished just as quickly. Velira drew in a slow breath, smoothing the reaction from her features with practiced ease, willing her expression back into something composed, controlled without the underlying judgments. Not for the sake of the Hutt, but for the sake of the business at hand.

Associating with the Hutts was not unfamiliar territory to Velira, even if she had never dealt with them directly. That had always been her Father’s domain, particularly after his ascension to the throne. She remembered the whispers that filled the halls of the palace, the quiet arrivals of Hutt envoys flanked by their cartel guards, with the weight of their presence lingering long after they had gone. Nar Shaddaa itself, was close in orbit to her home world, enough to allow for such regular meetings.

Velira had never approved. Her Father had never concerned himself with the ethics of how their food arrived… whether it had been taken, stolen, or harvested from the innocent. Her Mother, however, had been… more selective, ensuring at the very least, that those brought in had been imprisoned criminals.

Even that had not sat well with Velira, not entirely. And now, standing here, watching the exchange unfold, she could not ignore the realization pressing quietly into her thoughts… that her people likely still maintained those same connections and transactions to farm life essence. That the Hutts remained a primary source of sustenance for those who had grown too indulgent to hunt for themselves… receiving a steady flow of centuries worth of credits, and relics in return. Her posture stiffened slightly at the thought, something sharper settling beneath her calm. Yet even as she scanned the room again, she could sense no others like herself…. No trace of Anzati presence, beyond her own.

For all her years, Huttese had remained unfamiliar on her tongue, and she did not fail to notice how effortlessly it flowed from Morgan. Velira noted that there was something almost eloquent in the way she spoke it, controlled and fluid in nature.

Velira hesitated briefly before reaching down the front of her shirt, slipping free a small translator. With a quick press of her index finger, she activated it, only to be met with static— a quiet, useless hiss of a sound. Her expression did not change, but there was a quiet shift in her gaze as she looked down at it. Then, without ceremony, she let the device fall from her hand. The heel of her stiletto came down with precise force, crushing the device beneath it with a silent crack, drowned out by the bass of music in the room. This is what I get for accepting Silas’s vintage tech as a gift, she thought to herself, a faint exhale slipping from her lips.

Her attention returned to the room, crimson gaze drifting between the jeweled Hutt upon his throne and Morgan herself… though inevitably, it lingered more on Morgan. On her posture, the subtle language of her body as she moved through the space with a sense of authority, and briefly— her gaze dipped lower, to the curve of the woman’s backside. Focus, she silently hissed to herself.

Velira drew herself back, steadying her thoughts, forcing them into alignment with the situation. From what she could observe, this was business. Routine, even. And yet, there was one word that Velira could understand through the flow of Huttese, one she’d heard her father use far too many times. Sale. It cut through her understanding like a blade. Velira’s posture shifted almost imperceptibly, her arms folding tightly across her chest as her gaze darkened. The instinct to slip into Morgan’s mind and pull the meaning free… It flared briefly, in part driven by her own hungers, sharp and tempting. No. Velira shut it down immediately. She would not make that mistake again. Not here, not now, and possibly not ever again.

Another memory surfaced in her mind, unbidden and unwelcome. A desolate cavern— one Velira had once endured for nearly a century alone, nearly turning feral in the process, entrapped by a former lover. Don’t make that mistake again, her mind whispered out of instinct, low and insistent. Outwardly, she remained composed… still, elegant, her features a perfect mask of calm. But the tension beneath it had coiled. Her arms remained crossed, posture sharpened. Velira’s gaze lifted, once again locking onto Morgan for a moment longer than necessary.

And then, she slowly reached out, casting forth a message from her own mind. Her voice telepathically brushed towards Morgan’s, smooth in nature yet with the faintest edge of ice laced underneath. What do you mean by sale, Morgan? What sort of business do you have with this Hutt?

At the sudden drop of communication, only then did a sliver of annoyance steadily creep into the depths of her crimson gaze. It was subtle at first, but present all the same. She assessed the look that Morgan gave her, her head tilting slightly to the side in quiet suspicion. What was the document that lay before the Captain? If she had learned anything, it was that Hutts were not meant to be trusted. And yet even still, the mention of the word sale, and the way that the Hutt’s wandering gaze had passed over her body, had not escaped her notice.

Despite what she felt… the slow ripples of paranoia beginning to creep into her thoughts, Velira did not attempt to slide into Morgan’s mind. Did not attempt to dissect it, despite the urge that lingered at the edges of her instincts. How could she, after all she had learned of the woman, all they had shared? A soft hiss escaped her lips instead, quiet and restrained. Her thirst did not help matters. Velira knew that much. It pressed against her senses now, sharper than before— clawing at her awareness, burning at the back of her throat with a steadily growing insistence. It had been a mistake to attend a meeting such as this while hungry. And yet, there it was, threading itself through her thoughts, sharpening them. Her predatory gaze slid around the room, slow and deliberate, searching.

A Twi’lek male soon rested on the ground in close proximity to the enormous Hutt, gold chains secured tightly around his wrists as he was carried in. His form, mostly laid bare— still carried strength in its lines, though the expression across his face betrayed what he had endured. There was something hollow there across his features, something that had been gradually worn down.

A fleeting pang of sympathy stirred within her, as passed just as quickly. Velira cast it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. With a smooth, controlled motion, she slid the hood of the cloak over the features of her face, letting the shadows swallow her expression as she began to move. She wove her way around the room’s edge with quiet precision, never losing sight of her targets… the Hutt, Morgan, and the Twi’lek, each kept carefully within her line of vision.

Velira drew in a deep breath, steadying herself, and her own hungers, at least for now. Silken threads of the Force began to extend outward from where she stood, delicate and precise, slipping into the Twi’lek’s mind with practiced care. What she found there was weakened into fractures, with defenses that had been worn thin during his time spent there, leaving his thoughts exposed.

His recent memories surfaced too easily, enough to nearly make her wince, to soften the cold detachment she usually carried, if only for a split second. Velira did not claw into his thoughts as she had originally intended. Instead, she rested there, keeping her presence light. I can help you, her voice gently echoed within the recesses of his mind, soft as silk against the ragged edges of his awareness. She was met with resistance… darkness and fear, that pressed back against her presence.

I only ask for one thing in return, her voice purred once more, quieter now and coaxing, enough to draw his attention toward her rather than forcing it. Still, he resisted, and Velira pressed further in response. Please, tell me what it is they are discussing, she urged again, this time with more insistence, her presence tightening just enough to break through the last of his defenses.

Finally, his mind gave way. They are discussing business. Someone hunted, came the weak response, fragmented. And yet— It was enough. The words struck something deeper within her, igniting her very survival instincts…. The urge to move, to run. To escape before a trap had a chance to coil around her.

Her hunger surged in response, feeding the rising tension within. She promised, Velira tried to remind herself, grasping at the thought as though it might anchor her. And yet, even as she did, doubt slipped in. There had been others long before Morgan who had made promises to her… only to shatter them.

The force of her own thoughts, her instincts, began to entwine with the Twi’lek’s mind beyond her control, bleeding into him. What burned within her manifested differently in him, melded into something grounding, that urged him forward, and away from the darkness that had consumed him.

Velira severed the connection abruptly. Her focus snapped outward, landing on the golden chains that bound him. She reached for them without hesitation, her telekinetic grip tightening with precision. With the split of metal, they tore free from the ground beneath the weight of her focus, rising into the air around him in a slow, deliberate orbit.

In the same motion, a blade sailed rapidly through the air, tearing free from where it had been displayed merely as wall decor. It pierced clean through the abdomen of one of the guards, emerging from the other side coated in red before slowing. Gently and almost deliberately, it landed into the Twi’lek’s waiting hands.

Velira’s mind snapped forward onto his once more. Slaughter the Hutt, a simple command echoed from her, that was sharp and unyielding in nature this time. Without another word, Velira turned on her heel from where she stood in the shadows, weaving her way past the patrons with sudden urgency. Bodies collided with hers as she forced through them, and the room behind her slowly fracturing into chaos.

Velira broke into a run, allowing her instincts to take over. She vaulted over furniture once she reached the shop, her movements fast and fluid, driven now by something far more primal than calculation alone. Run. Do not allow yourself to be sealed away for another century, The thought screamed through her mind.

A window ahead shattered the moment she struck it, glass exploding outward in a sudden spray of shards. Velira rolled with the impact, the cloak catching most of the damage, though their sharp edges still carved thin lines along her arms. It slowed her, only for a moment. With a sharp hiss, she surged back to her feet, crimson gaze snapping forward as it scanned the streets beyond, searching and calculating for the most viable escape route.

With the soft crackle of her comlink and Morgan’s familiar voice cutting through the noise, Velira stilled. Not completely, but enough. The world around her remained in motion, bodies flooding out from the building behind her, with voices raised in panic and confusion as the aftermath spilled into the narrow alley.

Velira did not answer the comlink right away. Instead, she closed her eyes. Her hands curled into tight fists at her sides, nails pressing lightly into her palms as she forced her breathing to steady. The sharp, instinctive edge that had overtaken her moments before began to recede, slipping back underneath the surface, as her usual precision slowly reasserted itself.

The thought of being locked away… nearly starved, and forgotten— tried to claw its way back into her mind, but she forced it down this time, grounding herself in something else. In the familiar voice on her comlink, on Morgan’s words, and in the quiet certainty that had been offered to her aboard the Kraken.

And yet, even still, Velira could feel it. The hunger. It lingered, coiled tightly beneath her composure. Her eyes flickered back open, crimson gaze sharpening once more. Velira exhaled softly, pushing herself away from the wall, now moving swiftly. With a subtle shift, she angled herself through the moving crowd, weaving between bodies with quiet ease.

She slipped back into the shadows, her form blending seamlessly. Velira’s boots met the building’s wall with quiet sense precision. She moved vertically and quickly made her way back to Morgan’s side. Velira descended in a single, fluid motion, dropping soundlessly from above to land directly behind her.

Though she had regained much of her composure, there was still something beneath it, something raw. It still burnt in the depths of her crimson gaze, and in the faint tension held through her frame. The shadows beneath her eyes had deepened, sharpened by the hunger.

Her cloak— Morgan’s cloak, hung in tattered edges now, the fabric torn along the bottom from her escape. Thin scratches traced along her arms, along with a tear in her shirt that exposed the smooth line of her stomach beneath. “I’m right here,” Her voice whispered smoothly from where she stood.

Velira tilted her head slightly, her expression composed, almost thoughtful, as though she had not just unraveled a room behind her into a state of chaos. “I had to… get some fresh air, ” She stated simply. A faint pause followed. Then, with the slightest shift of her lips, as an expression of feigned innocence settled into place. “Did something happen?” Her gaze lingered on Morgan’s, faintly wavering in a way that she could not fully conceal. “What does the Hutt want?”

Velira did not answer right away. She stood there in the narrow alley, the dim light of Nar Shaddaa flickering across her form in uneven pulses of violet and gold. The city breathed around them in distant voices, and the low hum of passing speeders overhead. Her gaze met Morgan’s, and held it, just a fraction too long.

There was something there, something faintly unsteady beneath the surface, but it passed quickly, smoothed over with the practiced ease she’d come to know for decades, as her posture shifted. Velira’s shoulders settled back into something more composed, more intentional. She tilted her head slightly, a loose strand of dark hair falling across her cheek as she let out a quiet breath. Her fingers rose, brushing it back into place with slow, deliberate care, as though the gesture itself might anchor her.

“It was absolutely nothing,” she said at last, her voice leaving her smoothly, with a sense of control. Too controlled. Velira’s lips curved faintly, something almost playful threading into the expression as she stepped a fraction closer, the remnants of torn fabric catching in the dim light. “A lapse in judgment, perhaps,” she added, her tone softening just enough. “Or perhaps, curiosity, getting the better of me.”

Velira’s gaze drifted briefly over Morgan’s expression, as if assessing how much of that she believed, before returning to meet her eyes once more. There was a quiet confidence in the lie, something fluid and effortless in the way her voice carried it. And yet… It did not hold. Not entirely.

Something in Velira’s expression shifted then, subtle but real. The faint edge of performance eased, her gaze softening if only for a moment. For a moment, she said nothing, her lips parting as if to continue—only to pause. Because Velira realized she did not want to lie to her, not truly. The realization sat strangely within her, unfamiliar and unwelcome in its clarity.

Finally, she exhaled slowly. Her shoulders lowered just slightly, the tension fading out of them as she looked at Morgan again— not in distanced calculated distance this time, but with something far quieter. Her hand lifted absently to her hair, fingers catching on something small. A shard of glass. She plucked it free with delicate precision, holding it between her fingertips for a brief moment before letting it fall, her other hand smoothing the dark strands back into place.

“I could not… understand much of the conversation. And it is entirely possible that I… arrived to the wrong conclusion,” Velira began to admit, more carefully now. “My father, on my home world, carried out… business with various Hutts,” Velira continued, her voice lowering slightly, threading something colder beneath the words. “I presume that he still does, even today.” Her gaze sharpened then, a flicker of something colder igniting in the crimson depths. “I don’t trust them, Morgan. I never have. Not after I’ve seen firsthand, the sort of business that they conduct.”

Velira could not fault Morgan for feeling the way she did, could not even deny that she was wrong. Not when she knew— without question, that she had allowed her own instincts, her own fears, to take hold where they should not have. For a moment, she froze.

The alley seemed to narrow around them, the sounds of Nar Shaddaa pressing in from all sides.. And yet all of it felt distant, muted beneath the presence of Morgan. She could feel it, the heat and sting of her anger…. The way it coiled through the air like something alive. It showed in the tightening of her fists, in the rigid line of her posture, in the way her eye burned with something fierce and unyielding.

And yet, Velira did not retreat. Instead, she lifted her chin slightly and met Morgan’s gaze head on, staring into the fiery depths of her eye without flinching. Her own expression, once sharpened by instinct and hunger, softened across the pale features of her face into something more genuine.

The woman standing before her, fire and fury and pure conviction, had again done something few ever had… She had broken through. Another wall of Velira’s, crafted carefully over centuries, fractured quietly beneath the weight of Morgan’s words. And this time, Velira did not pull away from it. Did not attempt to bury it beneath cold calculation, despite her instincts telling her otherwise. She let it remain, took a shaky breath, as she allowed herself to feel.

Velira steadied herself, and took a single step forward, closing the distance between them. She did not break eye contact, did not allow that connection to falter. Tentatively, she reached out. Her hand moved slowly, deliberately, until it came to rest against Morgan’s curled fist… cool skin against heat, her touch light and careful.

Velira’s voice, when it came, was far softer than before. “You may be a pirate… But there is honor in you. I can see it, even feel it,” She began slowly, her tone low and steady, threaded with something that had not been there before… something of sincerity. She held Morgan’s gaze as she spoke, as though anchoring herself to it.

“Before you, there was… another.” The words came with a quiet weight, her breath catching just slightly before she continued. A flicker of something passed through her expression… memory, sharp and unwelcome. “It did not end well,” Velira continued, letting out a faint, unsteady exhale as the past brushed too close to the surface. Her fingers shifted ever so slightly against Morgan’s hand, as though grounding herself in the present.

“And yet even still… I have never once allowed myself to truly allow another to see the full truth of what I am… Of who I am, in nearly all of my three hundred years,” Velira finally admitted. “Not until you, Morgan Sorenn.” Velira held there for a moment, allowing the truth of her words to linger between them, her gaze unwavering. “I am… trying, to learn a different course.”

Velira had inclined her head slightly at Morgan’s first statement, accepting it without argument. What had passed between them moments before was not entirely resolved, this she knew. Her attention had shifted the very moment Morgan moved on to the business at hand, something that she found a quiet sense of relief in.

The softness in Velira’s expression sharply faded into something more precise and of pure calculation, as the datapad came into view. Her crimson gaze swept quickly across the various features and contours of the listed faces as they appeared, her mind already beginning to sort through patterns and various probabilities. Velira’s hunting instincts sharpened once again, this time with purpose, as they found a reason to anchor themselves to.

When Morgan’s presence had touched her mind in order to communicate, Velira did not retreat. She had grown accustomed, even familiar with it by now, as the woman’s voice brushed against her thoughts. And more than that, she could recognize the usefulness of such a method.

Velira absorbed the plan in silence, her gaze continuing to scan the datapad as she considered each face. Most meant nothing to her, fleeting lives, various strangers… all except for one. Velira’s gaze stilled, as recognition flared in her, sharp and immediate. Another Anzat, one with thick black hair that held the subtly shifting undertones of maroon and violet… much like her own, unmistakably so.

A quiet exhale of annoyance slipped past her lips, almost inaudible, as memory surfaced. Her cousin… Someone with a certain taste for indulgence, who had always been reckless, and drawn to an immortal life of excess. He had made his home in the sort of environments where awareness dulled… where the act of feeding could be attained alongside pleasure. Nightclubs. Always nightclubs.

”I am not surprised that one of my people have managed to find their way on this list. I know this one. He has always been fond of… feasting at various clubs,” Velira responded through the telepathic link in explanation, her voice smooth, even if something colder lingered beneath it. Her gaze did not yet lift from the pale blue glow screen.

For a moment, curiosity danced across the pale features of her face, at the notion of learning more of Morgan. But it quickly shifted, focusing back on the task at hand. At her words, she let out a low laugh. “My cousin? He’ll certainly be a lot more… blunt, than I was. And far more lacking in decorum, to put it simply,” Velira began to say, shaking her head.

She paused for a moment. Her crimson gaze cut clearly through the dimness of the closet, tracing each detail of the Captain’s form. The subtle adjustments to her shirt which now only served to reveal more, drawing the eye along the curved lines of her silhouette, while the the additional touches of makeup added emphasis to the already striking features of Morgan’s face.

Velira’s gaze shifted down, to her own outfit. Even if she had taken care to heal the scratches on her arm with synthflesh on their way over, it did nothing to hide the tatters of her clothing. For the sake of blending in, it was not up to her usual standards. Velira’s gaze shifted to a discarded dress on the floor of the closet, no doubt left behind from one of the other patrons during a heated encounter. In one quick motion, she lifted her tattered shirt over her head and unzipped her ripped leather pants, slowly tugging them down along the curves of her legs before casting them to the side.

Velira paused for another moment, now looking back at Morgan in careful consideration, her bare form partially concealed by the shadows. “Allow me,” she finally whispered gently from the darkness before stepping forwards again, reaching out. The cool touch of her fingertips lightly traced up along the front of Morgan’s partially unbuttoned shirt, to her throat, and eventually to gently cup underneath her chin and carefully angle her face closer. Only then did Velira take the makeup palette, using the soft tip of a brush to gently smudge on some additional black eyeliner with precision, and then a different brush to apply a top coat of gloss to the shape of Morgan’s lips. “Just a few more final touches. There,” Velira finally breathed, lingering close to Morgan for just a moment longer before gently releasing her and stepping back.

She dipped down, reaching for the discarded dress and quickly slipping it on over the shape of her form. The thin black material hugged each of her curves, strapless and short in nature, further emphasizing the leather thigh high boots that she’d borrowed from Morgan. In any case, Velira knew she would blend far better amidst the other patrons.

She paused at the edge of the closet, glancing back over her shoulder at Morgan from where she stood, in careful assessment. A smirk of approval curved across Velira’s lips… Yet even still, there was the expression of something far more protective carried in the depths of her crimson gaze, in stark contrast. “You look lovely, Captain… You’ll drive him absolutely feral.”

The closet door slid open with a soft whisper, spilling dim light into the confined space as the distant pulse of music bled in. The bass thrummed through the floor beneath their feet, growing louder once the door opened.

Morgan stepped out first and strode forward, with Velira following a short distance after. The shifting lights of the club caught along the sleek black of her short dress, tracing the curve of her silhouette as she moved. Once they made their way back upstairs, the air beyond was thick… filled perfume, sweat, and smoke, each one blending into a haze that clung to the senses.

Together, they descended into the heart of the club. The dance floor stretched out before them… a sea of bodies moving in sync with the music, hands illuminated in flashes of neon red, gold, and electric purple.

Velira lingered in the edge of the shadows, a glass of liquor held in one hand. Her eyes traced each of Morgan’s movements through the crowd, locking onto her, to each movement of her body and each curve. And through it all, something had begun to coil deep within Velira, a feeling that started between her thighs and moved higher— Hunger.

The elegant lines of each brow lowered over her gaze, casting it in shadows. The very moment that Morgan looked at her, even more so with another in her arms, something unraveled within Velira. She lightly bit her lower lip, enough to hold back a hiss. The flashing lights shone hues of purple and blue that reflected in the depths of Velira’s crimson gaze, something close to fire shimmering there now as she locked eyes with her lover. For a moment, she advanced forwards in one smooth movement, stepping into the crowd with a smirk curved across her glossy black lips. Her heels glided across the dance floor smoothly, as Velira began to make her way towards Morgan— only to turn away.

The lights cast a pale glow against her smooth skin, turning it to something luminous, highlighting the low dip of her dress down the front and the curves of her cleavage, to the slope of her back and rounded curve of her rear beneath the thin material. Velira’s hips swayed to the deep bass of the music, in full view of where Morgan stood. She dropped lower, slowly sliding her own hands up along the front of her own body, from her thighs to the curves of her full chest, and eventually to the dark cascade of her black hair to toss it over her shoulders.

The smirk returned to Velira, as a muscular female Firrerreo with streaked inky blue hair came into view, watching her closely from where she danced, piercings studding her lips. The woman moved closer and curved her arm around Velira’s swaying hips, pulling her in close in one swift movement. She responded to the motion, pressing back closer between the Firrerreo’s legs as she moved, tilting her head back as the woman left a series of kisses up along the front of her cleavage to the side of her neck. Velira allowed herself to lean into the sensations, looking over the other woman’s shoulder back at Morgan through half lidded crimson eyes, her gaze burning.

She allowed the other woman’s hands to explore the shapes of her thighs, beginning to slide higher underneath her black dress. And yet before the woman’s hands could fully find their mark, only then did Velira lean in, pressing her lips to the Firrerreo’s in a heated kiss. The woman’s hands clawed against her smooth porcelain skin with a soft growl, lifting her closer. With the cascade of Velira’s dark black hair falling on either side of them to conceal their faces, only then did the silky wisps of her tendrils slide forward in one smooth motion. They trailed upwards against the woman’s skin, each slowly sliding past her lips through the kiss, into her mouth.

Velira could taste the woman’s life essence as it began to flow into her, warmed with the intoxicating, fiery flavor of unbound lust. She focused on feeding, drawing the essence into her own form, enough to fill her senses. Finally, Velira released the woman, her tendrils sliding free and retreating as she leaned back from the kiss. Her gaze locked back on Morgan instead, the crimson depths of her eyes glowing like embers under the flashing lights.

Only then did Velira step forwards. For a moment, her mind flared towards the Twi’Lek’s, sliding into it with one simple command— Leave. The word echoed softly through the Twi’lek’s, carrying with it a subtle undercurrent of faint warning… enough to ensure it would be obeyed. Velira wove through the crowd fluidly to the rhythm of the music, with the slow sway of her hips, until she found herself standing back before Morgan.

Her fingertips found Morgan’s wrist first, light and cool against the heat of her familiar skin, trailing upward along her arm to her shoulders, drawing her in. Velira moved closer, each soft curve of her body pressing up against Morgan through the thin material of her strapless dress. Her hips moved in time to the pulse of the music, slower now, more controlled as she pressed inwards. One hand slid down to Morgan’s waist, fingers resting there for a moment to angle her body closer, as Velira swayed against her.

She leaned in and moved her lips against the side of Morgan’s neck, tilting her head higher, her breath close enough now to brush against Morgan’s ear, voice low and smooth. “I want you, Morgan Sorenn, and I’m not interested in denying it anymore…”

She gazed up at Morgan from beneath her lashes, parting her lips against the woman’s thumb at her mouth. Velira allowed the tip of her tongue to brush slowly against it, tilting her head back, as her breath escaped in a low gasp. She could feel Morgan’s heartbeat against her body, sending heated pulses through to her core. Her thighs shifted in response as she slid her hands up against Morgan’s waist, letting the cool touch of her fingertips glide underneath her shirt, snaking up along the lower half of her back and moving over each contour of muscle.

Velira allowed herself to lean into it… to the feeling of each touch, to Morgan— granting herself, for once, that fragile, untethered freedom while in the arms of her lover. In the presence of the woman who haunted her thoughts, unraveled her focus… the very woman who had irrevocably become something more to Velira.

Her hands moved back towards the front of Morgan’s shirt this time. She lightly tugged the woman closer to her by the collar, drawing her away from the dance floor towards the shadows at the edge of the room, where she gently pushed her lover up against the side of a wall.

“You’re worth the complication to me,” She whispered in response, her voice laced with velvet as gazed up at her. Velira suddenly brought her lips back against Morgan’s in another passionate, fervent kiss while her thighs wrapped around the woman’s hips. The very motions, the sensations of their shifting bodies against one another in this manner, was enough to illicit a soft whimper from Velira through the kiss.

Finally, she pulled back just enough to catch her breath, gazing at Morgan with warmth shining in her crimson eyes. This time, something softer returned to the features of her face as she looked up at the woman, still holding her close. “Morgan, I—“

Before Velira could finish the thought, she felt something… someone, unwelcomely clawed against her awareness. Only then did Velira release her hold on Morgan, instinctively turning around to face the presence she’d sensed. She dropped her shoulders into a defensive position, a low hiss rising to escape her lips at the interruption.

“Now, now… Please, is that any way to greet your cousin Xavien after so many years, Velira? And here I thought I’d sooner die before I caught you in a place like this… Tell me, have you finally come to enjoy the spoils of immortality?” A sharp voice trilled from beyond where they stood, each word followed by a light laugh. Two red eyes glowed from the darkness as a male Anzat stepped forward, his loose black and maroon hued hair much like Velira’s, fell in shaggy strands to his shoulders. His mouth pulled into a mocking smile, accented by sharp cheekbones.

In either one of his muscled, tattooed arms there lay a woman curled against his side, each one laughing softly to themselves with a dazed look in their eyes. Velira’s gaze narrowed in disgust, at the realization that he had no doubt already fed from them, perhaps more than once. “Ladies, if you’ll please excuse me, I have business to attend to,” He whispered as he gave them each a kiss on the hand, letting them slip away out of his grasp before he fixed his gaze over Velira’s shoulder, to where Morgan stood.

“Oh, you simply must tell me who this ravishing creature is,” Xavien purred approvingly as his eyes swept over Morgan’s body without restraint, tendrils just barely flicking out from his cheekbones. At this, Velira let out another predatory hiss. Her senses instinctively reached out, already beginning to slither towards his mind, delving swiftly to slash into it… Only to be met with a wall of shadows, much like her own, that began to push back against her awareness in defense.

His eyes slid between where Velira stood in front of Morgan, with something of curiosity and sheer amusement twisting across his face. “Is she your prey, Velira? I must say, you’ve made quite the catch for yourself. That soup within her just seems so… mouthwatering,” Xavien began slowly, licking his lips, gaze never once leaving Morgan. “And if she’s not your prey to devour, Velira… Then I should very much like a taste myself.”

At the sight of his hands on Morgan, the slow, insistent flicker of his probosces betraying his hunger for her, Velira had felt the sharp urge to tear them from his face. And yet… she held herself back. Morgan had a plan, that much Velira knew, and it was the only thing that kept her hand steady.

The moment that they were elsewhere, Velira’s gaze locked on him, her pupils narrowing into predatory slits, eyes gleaming red from the dark. Her mind struck next, alongside Morgan’s — reaching with claws, unrelenting in its grip and honed with precision. Velira was met with that same shadowed wall of protection to his thoughts, and yet this time, she allowed her mind to snake deeper. Searching. And finally, Velira found her opening… She delved inwards, her mind hooking in through a broken shard within the mists that guarded his thoughts.

Velira was first met with the hedonistic ideals she would’ve come to expect from her cousin… a life of excess and pleasure, of uninhabited desires and a steadily growing greed that increased with each passing year of his life. And beneath that greed…boredom. A hollow, gnawing sort of boredom born of immortality, of a life spent chasing sensation just to feel something. Night after night, as he lost himself in the fleeting pleasures of the club… in new faces, new bodies… yet never found satisfaction. Never found meaning— Only the same, unrelenting emptiness waiting for him after. With a deep breath, she focused, slithering past these layers of internal feelings, delving deeper into his memories.

Xavien let out a series of hisses at the sensation, fury tensing through his body and lacing through his thoughts. And just as Velira unearthed the memory of the ledgers, just as it began to take shape— she felt the connection shift. Not slipping, but locking into place, tightening like a wire between them. With a sudden twist of focus, Xavien seized it, using the very link she had forged as a pathway back. He climbed it with clawed intent, pushing against her resistance, forcing his way into her mind.

Velira’s breath hitched, her expression tightening with a flicker of awareness at the sudden intrusion. Instinct took hold as she reached for the layered walls of her mind, drawing them up in quick succession, while straining to maintain the connection. And yet, Velira could feel him already there, already beginning to sift through her memories, into her very emotions.

Finally, his gaze snapped up, thin lips splitting into a wide, unnatural smile. A laugh followed— low at first, then climbing into something jagged and unrestrained. “I know you’ve always been the soft one of the family, but I didn’t know just how soft you’ve gone, Velira. Not truly. How utterly pathetic.”

And yet, even at his words, she did not flinch. She only sought to tighten her grip, enough to begin forcing him out of her mind, before she felt him weigh down again, drawing more. “Oh, I think she’ll want to hear this one…” Xavien taunted, a low laugh following each of his words. “Not only have you not told her how you feel… You haven’t even told her who you truly are!” He continued, raising his voice louder at this, tilting his head to the side to look at Morgan before focusing back on Velira.

“But alas, our kind was never meant to feel. Only to hunger. Only to take. And yet, you’ve let yourself become… compromised. You’ve spent so long pretending to be something more… but in the end, you’re still what you’ve always been. Eventually, she’ll learn that.” He continued with smile, gaze cutting into where she stood. At this, something in Velira wavered, a momentary flash of pain surfacing in her crimson eyes—and for an instant, she nearly gave in. No. This reaction, this was what he wanted, and she would not allow him the pleasure of receiving it.

“If you won’t tell her yourself, then allow me—“ Before Xavien could finish, Velira’s grit her teeth as she surged forward in her own mind, tearing him free with a decisive push, and claiming back the same knowledge he had stolen from her before he could commit it to memory. In the same instant, she closed the distance between them, her hand snapping to the syringe at her thigh before driving the needle deep into his throat.

She held it there, steady and unflinching, as the toxins from the injection bled into his system, slow and deliberate… meant not to kill, but to dull, to make his thoughts pliable enough for Morgan. Velira cast a knowing look in her direction, something faintly predatory in it— an invitation to take what remained.

Morgan had arrived into his senses as a storm, prying into his very mind, with searing heat that tore through his very thoughts. And then there was Velira, who alongside her now that his defenses had been broken, reached in once more— Her touch a creeping absence that swallowed sensation, dimmed his resistances in the wake of Morgan, and hollowed out whatever the other woman’s fire had not yet already claimed. His resistance faltered, splintering under the weight of them, until a centuries old memory fractured to the surface.

It wrenched free from him, from the deepest recesses of his mind— raw and unguarded, despite how long he had tried to bury it. His thoughts faded to ink, as the very memory began to echo within him. Obsidian black stone stretched beneath his feet… cool, polished, and endless. Towering, ancient halls rose around him, their ceilings curved into shadows, and sculptured walls lined with various stained glass that glowed in muted reds and golds. Light filtered in through fractured patterns, and cast a shifting array colors across the floor, while the rest fell into darkness. Beyond the grand windows, the sky loomed, hazy with an ever present fog that swept across the landscape.

It had been his home, perhaps the only one he’d ever truly known… and yet, it was suffocating. He could feel the stillness of it, heavy with the quiet pressures of expectations and schemes that seemed to fill every corridor, along with the confinement of it. And then there was her, the one he had once cared for as something perilously close to a sister.

Velira was younger in his memories— unrefined with thick black waves of hair, not yet honed into the presence she would become. There was something restless in her then, something that always seemed to resist the stillness and unchanging nature of their family home, alongside him. She had sat apart from the others, tucked into the edge of a balcony where she could find solace from the prying eyes of their family. A sketchpad rested against her knees, charcoal smudging her fingers as she worked carefully. Keeradaks. Velira sketched them mid flight, their wings stretched wide against the crimson clouds—imperfect lines captured in motion, of beings that were free.

But her attention drifted beyond the page… Towards something more, an expression of both hope and wonder shining brightly in her eyes, as she gazed up at the sky. Voices suddenly cut through the moment, sharp with displeasure, calling her name with irritation and insistence. Velira did not rise. She did not answer, did not even look at them, until pale hands seized her by the arm and tore her from where she sat. The sketchbook slipped from her grasp, pages scattering for a before the curling red hues of flames caught them. Fire devoured the charcoal lines in an instant… keeradaks dissolving into ash, their wings distorting and blackening, as if they had never existed at all. Until all that remained was a fine dusting of ash.

And he had been there, watching and… helpless. There was a time where they had both wanted to leave that echoed in his memories, to travel across the vast expanse of the galaxy, wanting more than the life of hunger they had been given… To see the stars not as distant lights beyond the thick fog, but as something real, something within their reach. For a time, he had still been… good.

The memory tightened and shifted, enough to pluck the faintest watering of tears at the edge of his vision— the day that he finally left. There had been no spectacle and no farewells, not even to Velira. He had left behind the expectations, the constraints… And her with it. That moment lingered… the last point in his mind before everything within him began to change. It had been a time before the hunger had fully begun to take hold… Before the greed that came with it, and before the slow erosion of everything that he had once been. The memory began to fracture, pulled free under Morgan’s tight grip, leaving him gasping in her wake. “Please… no more. No more,” his voice quietly begged, softer this time.

Velira had not interfered as Morgan tore into his mind. Where Morgan burned, Velira had held. Her influence had been quiet, acting subtle pressure that sank into the edges of the man’s awareness, weighing him down to allow Morgan to tear into him. And through it all… she had felt it— The fury. It had radiated from Morgan in waves, raw and unrestrained, a force that crackled through the air. Velira could feel the sheer strength of her life force as she had unleashed herself, bright and violent and alive in a way that was almost intoxicating to witness. And yet beneath it, threaded through every movement— there had been the grief.

Velira had felt it coiling through Morgan just as fiercely, an undertow beneath the storm, something that did not fade even when her rage burned bright. Velira had felt it before— first in the fighting ring, and then later in the quiet unrest of her dreams… but here, it had taken shape, morphing into something focused and weaponized.

When Morgan had finally released her grip, the shift was immediate. Only then did Velira move. She stepped forward in a single, fluid motion, her hand lifting to rest briefly against Morgan’s shoulder… a light, grounding touch, cool against the heat of her skin, in quiet acknowledgment.

Just as quickly, her fingers slipped away, and her attention shifted down to her cousin. Xavien’s body soon hit the ground in a staggered collapse, his breath ragged, hands clawing weakly at his bruised throat where Morgan’s grip had once been. His form trembled with the remnants of what had just been done to him, mind and body both frayed at the edges. For a brief moment, something of recognition flickered in Velira’s gaze, for the person he had once been. It vanished just as quickly.

Xavien had allowed himself to slip too far, that much was clear to her now. The hunger had taken root in him long ago, but he had not tempered it, had not controlled it as she had… Instead, he had chosen to indulge it, to let it hollow him out from within until there was little left of who he had once been. If there had ever been a part of him that remembered her… it had died long ago.

Velira drew in a slow breath, her expression settling into something quieter and far more clinical in nature as she began to pace around him. Each elegant step was measured and deliberate, her gaze sweeping over him not as kin— but as a subject to be carefully assessed.

The signs were unmistakable, now that Velira stood closer… The faint, sickly purple hue that had begun to gather underneath his skin. And then there was the subtle distortion of his nails, each of them lengthening and growing more jagged into something closer to claws. At the sight of each heaving breath he took, the tension in his movements grew more apparent, erratic and unstable. Feral. Not yet… but close. Too close.

Velira stilled, letting out a slow breath as she reached down her dress and slid on a pair of leather gloves in preparation. “It will be better this way,” Velira murmured softly, almost to herself, though her gaze never left him. There was no cruelty in her tone, only a sense of detached certainly, cold in nature.

“A mercy, even,” She said gently as she took one step closer, kneeling down beside where he lay on the ground. Her head tilted slightly, analyzing the line of his spine, the angle of his neck as he struggled to rise. Velira’s studied knowledge of the body guided her instinctively… where to place pressure, how to angle the force, and where the fragile lines of each vertebrae were most vulnerable.

She moved behind him without haste, her movements almost gentle as she reached down, one hand settling at the side of his jaw, the other at the back of his head. Her touch was cool and steady, both balanced and clinical in nature.

“You used to drag me to the landing docks… just to watch the freighters come and go. Do you remember that?” Velira whispered, her voice low, almost soothing. For a fleeting moment, she held him there… still and controlled, her grip firm but not yet forceful. And then, with a sharp, decisive motion— she twisted.

The force was exact, in a sudden rotation, angled just enough to displace the upper cervical vertebrae, severing the connection instantly. The sound was clean. Final… A sharp crack that echoed briefly before being swallowed by the noise of the world beyond, as his body went slack in her hands. Velira held him for a moment longer, ensuring the stillness was complete—- watching for any sign of lingering movement. And yet, there was none.

Only then did she release him, letting the body fall back to the ground without ceremony. Her gaze lingered for a second… willing for there to be no emotion, no attachment. Velira turned back to the Captain, her face a mask of unnatural stillness in an attempt to temper back anything she may have felt, as she removed her gloves. “I presume that you took all that you needed, before I…” She paused for a moment, letting out a soft breath, keeping an intentionally tight grip over her composure. Velira did not look back at the body. “I would… very much like to leave this place. We still have a hunt ahead of us, yes?”

She fought to keep her expression smooth, to hold onto the last fragile thread of composure she had maintained for years— longer than she could truly remember. Instincts, honed by survival, pressed in around her. There was the quiet, unyielding rule that she had lived by: Never grow close, never linger. And for the first time, Velira found herself wanting to carve out a different path, to truly let Morgan in. The shadows responded first. They gathered without her willing them, rising from the edges of the space around where they both stood, curling inward until they sealed the two of them within a sphere of darkness. The air thickened, heavy with something of grief, as a faint telekinetic tremor rippled beneath their feet— subtle, but unmistakable. And in that moment, something within Velira fractured.

The moment Morgan’s arms swept around her, warm against her cold form, Velira leaned into it without thinking, drawn to the comfort that was her. Morgan’s voice followed, softer now, her words threading through Velira’s thoughts, slipping past every defense to settle deep within her core… undoing something she had kept locked away, for far too long. A shuddering breath escaped Velira as her eyes fell shut, bright silver tears gathering at the edge of her lashes before slipping free. Her grip tightened around Morgan, pulling her closer as her breath turned uneven, each inhale a little less controlled than the last. The release came slowly at first… then all at once. It was unfamiliar, raw in a way Velira had never allowed… and yet, for once, she did not fight it.

Velira had glimpsed the layers of Morgan’s pain firsthand… had seen how it shaped her, how she had learned to wield it, to channel it into every strike of her fist and every force of her mind. Even in struggle, Morgan owned it… and there was a beauty in that, a strength Velira had always been drawn to— perhaps because she had never allowed herself the same. And now, in this moment, she did. The carefully maintained composure she had worn for so long began to fracture, and for the first time, Velira did not try to hold it together. She let it break, for the first time in what felt an eternity… allowing Morgan in, to see what truly lay me beneath her flawless surface.

Her fingers found Morgan’s shirt, knotting into the fabric as she pressed closer, her head settling against the curve of her neck. The steady rhythm of Morgan’s heartbeat grounded her, each pulse a quiet reminder that she was here…. That despite what Velira was, despite what she might one day become… That in this moment, she was alive. More than she had ever allowed herself to feel before. And with Morgan beside her, in all who she was, with each sharp edge and hidden depth, and that quiet capacity beneath it all, to still care…. Velira found herself holding onto that feeling.

She let out another unsteady breath before pulling back, just enough to look at Morgan. The shadows around them began to recede, as fresh tears still clung to her lashes, catching the light in her crimson gaze. And slowly, something warmer returned to Velira’s expression, a quiet light settling across her features, soft and genuine as she gazed at Morgan.

“When I was younger… Xavien and I… we used to dream of leaving our home world. Of seeing a whole entire galaxy, one new planet at a time…” She finally whispered, her voice now unguarded in a way it rarely was. A faint breath of something softer followed, almost a laugh. “And I used to wish I was a Keeradak… that I could simply fly away,” she added, slower still, the memory lingering in her tone. Her gaze dipped for a moment before lifting back to Morgan. “I imagine that must sound… a little foolish in hindsight.”

Velira remained within Morgan’s arms, lingering in her warmth. This time, her hand lifted slowly, fingertips brushing up to gently touch the side of the her lover’s face. “I used to dream of the stars, of something more than survival, of freedom. And now… I have it. And you’ve made it… something far more than I could have ever expected, Morgan.”

Whereas their kiss in the club had been full of heat, intoxicatingly fervent, this was… softer. She had leaned into it without hesitation, into the quiet comfort that was Morgan. Her face was still faintly damp, the last traces of silver tears brushed away by the warmth of Morgan’s touch, a contrast of heat that she could feel acutely against her own cool skin. When they pulled apart, Velira did not move away.

For a long moment, she simply looked at her. Her gaze traced every familiar line of Morgan’s face, every contour and plane she had come to know so well, with something far more present shining in her gaze. The usual coldness, the quiet detachment that had defined her for so long, had begun to slowly unravel somewhere in Morgan’s presence… leaving behind something softer. Warmer. And beneath that warmth— something deeper, now unsteadily rising to the surface.

It had first arrived as a sinking weight she had never allowed herself to feel, at least not fully… Until now, the sensation of the feeling gently contrasted by the steady presence of warmth and comfort that the woman before her carried. Velira’s fingers lifted once more, almost unconsciously, brushing lightly along Morgan’s jaw, as though grounding herself in the touch. Her breath steadied, yet not entirely, as her gaze flickered just for a moment… with something far more vulnerable now resting there.

“I have spent so long… refusing to feel, convincing myself that it was only for survival,” Velira began quietly, her voice softer now, laid bare of its usual control. Her eyes lowered briefly, her gaze growing distant as decades of memory stirred beneath the surface, moving like a quiet undercurrent through the depths. “I refused to feel, for every one of my kind who lost themselves… who became something I could not save…” A pause followed. Velira’s voice tightened, just slightly. “Each time I have been forced to end them, before they could… Change. Again, and again, more with each passing year…”

She paused, just for a moment… hesitation rising, familiar and instinctive. And yet, it was something she no longer wished to carry as tightly as she had before. Not when it came to Morgan. Velira pushed past it, drawing a deep breath, allowing more of her thoughts to slip free. Her fingers stilled against Morgan’s skin. “And Silas’s wife…” Her voice softened further, something more fragile threading through it now. “She had looked at me, just before, despite being in that state. Not as something to fear… but as someone she trusted to end it.”

A faint, uneven breath left her. “I have carried that with me… all of it. All of them. And I have never allowed myself to feel it. Not fully.” Velira’s gaze faltered then, just slightly, before steadying again, anchored by Morgan. “Until now. Because of who you are, and all that you’ve shown me… and everything you’ve carried within yourself, in turn. All that pain. And yet somehow, you’ve kept moving forward. You endure.”

Her words were quiet as she spoke, and yet they each held weight. Velira searched Morgan’s face again, something raw still lingering beneath the softness that had taken root there. “Perhaps… wanting more was never the mistake. Only denying parts of it. Not when it brought me here… Not when it brought me to you, Morgan.”

She cast a brief glance toward the body, her expression smoothing over it with her usual sense of practiced ease having returned. “Something really should be done about that, shouldn’t it?”

Her attention shifted back to Morgan just as quickly. Velira tilted her head slightly, considering the woman’s words… Not dismissing them, not entirely. There was a flicker of something quieter beneath the surface of her thoughts at first— the inevitable truth of it. Limited time. Mortality. The certainty that, no matter what she chose, Morgan’s path would one day end where hers did not, when it came to the matter of lifespan. The realization settled, fraying at the edges of her thoughts… and shifted. It only served as a reminder for her to savor the time that she did have with the woman standing before her.

“Careful, Captain.. You’re beginning to undersell yourself,” Velira slowly murmured, her voice low as it threaded through the space between them. A quiet laugh followed, light but knowing, as she let out a slow breath.

The corner of her lips began to curve, something caught between a smile and a smirk shifting there, as her gaze lingered on the woman. “And dump you? Tell me, Captain… Are we redefining the terms of our arrangement?”

Velira stepped forward once more, meeting Morgan’s gaze with a sense of certainty as she spoke. “I’ve lived for three damn centuries, Morgan. I know a poor investment when I see one… This is certainly not it.” She leaned in just enough to press a soft kiss to the side of Morgan’s cheek, slowly pulling away and leaving behind a faint smudge of black lipstick as she did.

Velira’s gaze lingered on the guards for only a moment longer before she turned her head slightly toward Morgan, the faintest curve of a smile touching her lips— smooth with assurance, and edged with the trace of something more dangerous now. “The shadows here are quite… generous,” she murmured gently, the velvet cadence to her voice low enough to be swallowed by the hum of the corridor. Her crimson eyes flicked toward the doors, then back to Morgan, something knowing settling into her expression. “I’ll give you a signal.”

With a smooth motion, Velira shifted slipped a small device from beneath the folds of her dress, where it had been strapped around the curve of her upper thigh—a Gyrda keypad. She pressed it into Morgan’s hand, her fingers brushing lightly against hers in the exchange as she leaned in. “When the moment presents itself…” Velira whispered, her lips close to Morgan’s ear.

Just as quickly, she vanished without trace, moving in silence within one single motion. Velira advanced forward, her form slipping into the surrounding haze of shadow, almost with a sense of belonging. The dim blue glow of the fluorescent lights barely touched her, as her body wove pathways between beams and cables with silent precision. The sleek line of her thigh high boots caught the faintest glint before disappearing again, in a movement that was fluid and unbroken with each shift of her form.

Velira’s hand lifted, a grappling hook releasing within one soft, controlled motion. It arced upward, guided not just by mechanics, but by the subtle influence of the Force that wove around it. It struck soundlessly into the structure above the guards, movement faintly slowed to allow for precision as it latched in place.

Velira followed in a single fluid motion. Her body launched and curled through the air in a controlled arc, moving within an elegant inversion as she flipped and swung upward, the line going taut for only a beat before releasing. She glided across the gap, landing atop the structure in a low crouch, balanced and poised as the stiletto heels of her boots struck the ground in controlled silence.

From the darkness, Velira’s eyes caught the light with a faint, crimson gleam as she surveyed her surroundings from the higher vantage point. Below, the guards shifted, unaware. Velira stilled, her focus narrowing as she began to analyze them, not as individuals, but as a functioning unit. She caught each pattern of movement, along with subtle gaps of attention, as they paused to adjust their weapons or shifted their weight.

Velira honed her hunting instincts with a sense of patience, gaze locking on the four targets. Her awareness slipped outward, slowly and carefully. Velira’s presence slipped into each of their minds with precision, threading through the edges of their thoughts as a fine, unseen blade. Their mental defenses resisted to her delicate touch at first, thick with instinct and training in the form of a hazy wall.., And yet, Velira did not push. She waited, and listened, until their minds began to slowly dismiss her very intrusion as nothing more than a momentary spike of stress.

The fear was already there, swirling just beneath the surface within each of them…. It always was. Velira uncovered it, buried beneath monotonous routine and obedience— along with their quietly growing anxieties that gnawed at them when they were alone, enough to prevent restful slumber in two of them. One worried about credits and hungry mouths to feed, along with the slow suffocation of rising debts. Another feared the path he had chosen, how far it had dragged him beyond anything he could return from, with what he had originally envisioned for his life.

Velira did not create these fears, for there was no need. With the curve of her lips, she revealed them. Amplified them, with a delicate hook that she had pierced into each of their minds. Her presence swept through their awareness in something cold and patient, drawing those thoughts upward to the surface, allowing them to begin to bloom into something heavier. The guard’s stances each began to shift in uncertainty, subtle at first, in hesitation or a single glance held too long. Their fingers each tightened on the grip of their weapons, breath catching in their chests with a rising sense of instability.

Velira shifted inward, landing on several fragments that had begun to slowly crack through, aided by her interference. She located the weakest point quickly, in one of them. Doubt had already lived in him, festering long before Velira had reached into his mind— A suspicion he had tried to bury beneath his loyalty. Velira leaned into it, her influence coiling around the thought, nurturing and shaping it until it bloomed into something else.

Her voice slipped into his mind, echoing there gently in the soft brush of a whisper, to gently tug at the strings of each unsteady sensation. Of course they’ll turn on you. Every man for himself… isn’t that how this works? A soft, coaxing purr sung beneath his thoughts. His gaze flicked sideways, and Velira pressed further. Look at them. Watching. Calculating… One move… one opportunity… and you’re gone. And your family? Left with nothing…

His breath quickened, as the idea settled in and took root, spreading like cold fire through his whole form. His movements shifted to something erratic, tension bleeding into every line of his tightened posture. His grip tightened on his blaster, eyes darting between the others.

“What are you looking at?” one of the other guards muttered gruffly. And yet, it was too late… Velira had already pushed him past the edge, in one simple unraveling of threads.

His blaster fired in a sudden violent flash of red, dropping the guard beside him before the others could react. Chaos broke through their ranks, sudden and absolute. The remaining guards surged toward him in a single wave, voices colliding against one another in sharp bursts of alarm. Their hands reached in fists, all trying to grapple to make sense of the violence, even as they moved to contain it. They pounced on him, each Gamorrean scrambling to subdue what had already slipped into madness.

Velira withdrew all at once, her presence slipping free from their minds as though it had never been there. In the same breath, she extended her hand. Darkness spilled outward, moving in a steady wave— A dense veil of ink that spread across the corridor, swallowing the light and the struggling forms beneath it, clinging to the space and remaining.

Her awareness brushed against Morgan’s mind, in that of a gentle whisper. “Now, Darling…”

Velira did not move at first. As the Hutt was revealed, something in her stilled— not outwardly, not enough to betray herself, but beneath the surface where instinct and memory coiled together. Hutts… The word alone carried weight, and she knew far better than to trust them. Not after everything she had seen, everything she had learned at the edges of their dealings… the quiet transactions of flesh and power, of lives reduced to yet another form of currency.

And yet… Her crimson gaze lingered on Satjeekah, studying him in that same way she studied prey, with a sense of calculation. Not with hunger this time, but with something far older that lurked beneath her surface. If there was one truth Velira understood intimately within herself, it was that she had been no more trustworthy than the creatures she judged, across the centuries.

Velira had smiled before with artificial kindness. Curtsied before with feigned respect. She had adapted into the role of something delicate, something harmless time and time again—only to unravel men and monsters alike, even if it took a decade. Moving as a pawn, a prize, until the very moment she chose to feed. Velira let that familiar persona settle over her once more, until she was that woman again.

She stepped forward into the light, the faint click of her stilettos measured and deliberate against the duracrete. The darkness seemed to peel back from her as she moved, revealing the sleek lines of her form, the subtle gleam of her dress beneath the low lighting. Her posture softened into something composed, yet with a casual sense of ease. The expression across the pale features of her face followed, shifting into something delicate and inviting. A polite smile curved across her lips, steady and practiced to hold a false sense of warmth.

“My, my…” she began, her voice smooth with each word, lilting with a polished cadence that felt almost old. “What an unexpected pleasure.” She dipped her head just slightly—not quite a bow, but enough to suggest respect, in a gesture that was intended to flatter.

Her crimson gaze lifted to meet his fully now, steady but softened by that same carefully crafted charm. “Satjeekah… A name that carries quite the reputation across the Kajidics… and not without reason. I have heard it said that your particular lineage traces back to some of the more… influential trade circles of Nal Hutta. Please do correct me if I’m mistaken,” she continued with a laugh, her tone light and conversational in nature, as though they were meeting over tea in some quiet parlor, rather than standing in the heart of a fortified den.

Velira’s head tilted with quiet intrigue as she quickly analyzed him. “I must say, is not often one encounters a Hutt who so clearly understands the value of such immaculate presentation.” Velira gestured towards the charms and the luxurious fabrics. “There’s an artistry to it… the way you carry both history and style so effortlessly. I can certainly respect that. Please, you simply must give me some fashion advice sometime.”

Her posture softened just slightly, something more personal threading into her tone. “I was raised to appreciate such fine things, much like yourself I’m sure.” A faint smile touched her lips. Her gaze lingered a moment longer, unreadable, as though whatever truth lay beneath her words was something she had long since learned to keep just out of reach.

“Velira,” she offered at last. “I am a… patron of the arts. I would very much enjoy seeing more of your collection, if you have anything particularly rare,” Velira continued, her voice warm with invitation as she exchanged a brief, knowing glance to Morgan. And beneath the elegance of her posture, tucked within her boot, her fingers shifted just enough to brush against the sleek handle of the concealed electro shock prod at her side, in careful adjustment.

Velira’s vision began to blur, her crimson gaze glassing over as the world around her had softened into something distant… unreal. Her thoughts slipped, scattered like fragments caught in a slow moving current, each one harder to grasp than the last. And yet, through the haze, something sharp still cut through. The antidotes. Velira tried to will herself forwards. Each movement felt wrong— delayed and disconnected, as though her body no longer fully belonged to her.

“I… I think I need to sit down,” Velira whispered, her voice softened, dulled by the toxins as it curled through her system. The words came slower than she intended, carrying a faint, uneven cadence. She lowered herself to the ground, hands reaching blindly for stability as the world tilted beneath her.

Everything felt distant. Her fingers brushed against the zipper of her boot, soft and indistinct beneath her blurred touch. She focused on it, forcing her hands to obey, to move. Slowly, she managed to pry it out, retrieving the small antidote kit hidden within.

“I don’t believe you’ll be needin those, Chere.” Satjeekah’s voice slipped through the haze, curling around her thoughts. His tail slid forward, easily knocking free the antidote kit from her unsteady hands in one motion. It clattered away across the floor, and with a lazy motion, he scooped it up.

And yet even still, his other words lingered in her mind, taking shape… Hunger. It was always there in Velira, even now, no matter how much she tried to bury it beneath discipline, tried to run from it. One day, it would catch up with her… A fact that she understood all too well. A version of herself flooded through her mind, just as clearly as though it were standing before of her— A creature of claws and fangs, beady black eyes that lacked thought, twisted and warped into something else. Velira recoiled, a sharp breath catching in her throat as the creature advanced forwards, jaws parting in hunger.

The vision shifted, as the creature warped into something else. A Twi’lek woman with fine golden skin, wearing an inviting smile, with cold calculation shining in her eyes. “You’ll help me, won’t you?” the woman murmured, her voice soft, coaxing. “A woman of your particular skills… even if you are a monster. A lovely one at that.” Her hand lifted, cupping Velira’s chin, dragging her forward—The kiss came suddenly. Unwanted.

The vision fractured again.… A man this time, a wealthy crime lord with long red hair, a look of disdain resting in his eyes as he watched her. “You might be one of those disgusting creatures…” he sneered. “But I suppose I can see your use. Very well. I’ll allow you to help me.”

The faces blurred and shifted, changing to Odan Urr. To the Consul. Mihoshi’s steady, measured voice cut through. “I’ll let you to remain… so long as you provide your services in return. But if you so much as attempt to feed on a Clan member… I’ll tear off a proboscis.”

The words layered over one another, overlapping until they became an indistinguishable chorus. Each face, each voice promising yet another new role to serve… Pawn. Asset. Weapon.

The vision shifted… The golden skinned Twi’lek and the crime lord all the same, now lying dead at her feet— drained of their life essence like so many before them, husks of who they had once been.

“It’s not real…” Velira tried to whisper to herself through the haze. And yet, some of it had once been real, still alive in her memories. Finally, there came the darkness that swept in around her senses… Followed by the final, closing hatch of a heavy steel door. A century of isolation, of being trapped. Velira’s breath hitched sharply, her body tensing as the memory bled into the present, the walls of the room seeming to press inward around her.

And through it all, Satjeekah, his last words coiling through her awareness. The Captain… Morgan— Her name alone nearly cut through the haze, as a light in the dark, someone radiant, someone comforting. For a fleeting moment, something gentler surfaced above the toxins flooding her mind. A faint, distant smile that ghosted across Velira’s lips as she lay still.

“Morgan…” she whispered, the name slipping free without her realizing it. Her thoughts followed, spilling outward, unguarded. “I wanted to hunt her at first… kill her like the rest of them. Part of me still wishes it were that simple…” Her gaze faltered, her expression softening as the words came more easily now, pulled free from her.

“I care for her… more with each passing day….This feeling… whatever it is… it’s warm,” Velira faltered, her thoughts drifting. “I’d kill to protect her… I…” Her voice wavered, something fragile and almost wistful threading through it. “I could possibly… envision a life with her… one day… What do you call that..?”

She fell silent for a moment, allowing her form to sink lower. “She wouldn’t pick me…” A hollow, breathless laugh followed. Her lips barely moved now, the words fading as quickly as they came. “I wouldn’t pick me.”

Velira turned the ring slowly between her fingers, as her crimson gaze traced over its details with quiet curiosity. Confusion lingered faintly across her features, though beneath it, there was an undeniable appreciation for the craftsmanship. Hutts rarely dealt in anything without purpose… and this had been given. She exhaled softly, her thoughts aligning. If Satjeekah had truly wished to, he could have killed her. Or worse. And yet, he hadn’t.

The realization settled uneasily within her, brushing against the old, ingrained distrust she carried for his kind. It did not erase it, not even close, but it shifted something, however slightly.

“I do hope we won’t have need to run into him anytime soon…” she began slowly, her gaze lifting to find Morgan’s. There was something searching in it now, something quieter beneath the surface. “Better me than you, Captain. I did swear an oath to protect you, after all… And for once in my lifetime, that is not an oath that I intend on breaking.” The words came easier than Velira expected. Perhaps some of the poison is still in my system, she thought, a flicker of denial threading through her mind. And yet, even as she tried to dismiss it, the haunting faces remained— those she had deceived, and ultimately betrayed… Some deserving, some not, and yet each of them meeting the same fate at her hands.

And then— The fresh memories struck. Her words, ones she had not meant to say, pulled from her through the haze of the toxins. Velira stilled for a long moment. Had Morgan heard? Her gaze sharpened, searching the Captain’s face for any trace of it, any shift or sense of knowing. For a moment, something guarded edged her expression. And even still, Velira did not ask. Perhaps some questions were better left unanswered.

She let the thought fall away, lifting a hand to her temple as she rubbed lightly, steadying herself as she rose back to her feet. The world still felt faintly off center, but it the wave was steadily passing. “I must have been out for a while…” she murmured, more to herself than anything.

Her gaze lingered on Morgan for a moment longer, this time softer, holding a look of gratitude. It shifted, drawn toward the broken remains of the door yet again. A faint, fleeting smile touched her lips.

In the same instant, something caught her eye from the edges of her periphery. Near the Sullustan’s body, half hidden against the dim floor, rested the unmistakable glint of metal. Velira moved, crouching gracefully as she retrieved it. A keycard… She turned it between her fingers, examining it briefly before slipping it away, satisfaction settling quietly in her posture.

Together, they soon stepped back out into the underbelly of Nar Shaddaa, the thick haze and dim glow of the lower levels wrapping around them once more. Velira’s crimson gaze swept across the immediate area, and then paused in a flicker of recognition.

The insignia etched into the keycard, matched that of one of the swoop bikes parked nearby. Her attention settled on it fully now. An older model, but one that had been well preserved. The frame bore the signs of wear beneath a fresh coat of black paint, the engine housing slightly modified and maintained with care. Velira stepped closer, circling it slowly, her gaze sharpening with interest.

“S57 Cardinal Speeder,” she murmured out loud in observation, her voice taking on that same smooth, precise cadence. “Early production… Approximately thirty standard years old, give or take.” Her fingers hovered just above the surface. “Repulsorlift stabilizers were notoriously temperamental in the earlier models… Though it appears that this one has been retrofitted for improvements.” A faint smile curved across her lips. “I read about these once.. Or twice…”

Velira straightened, turning back toward the Captain fully now, the keycard already in hand. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed it toward her in one effortless motion . “Somehow, I take it you know how to fly one of these.” Her smirk lingered, as she continued. “For all the books I’ve read… I don’t recall that I’ve ever been on one.”

Velira paused for a moment just outside, lifting a hand to run her fingers through her wind blown cascade of dark, wavy hair, smoothing it back into place as her gaze rested on the building before them. Time had not been kind to it, she could quickly infer. The once polished exterior was now dulled and weathered, duracrete cracked along the edges, signage long since burned out or torn away. Faint remnants of neon tubing clung to the upper frame, flickering weakly in places where power still barely fed through old circuits. The door itself bore the scars of the years, in a variety of scratches and dents. And yet… even in its decay, it was easy to imagine what it had once been…. A place alive with darkened laughter, deals struck in corners, and drinks poured faster than they could be accounted for.

Velira considered it quietly, her thoughts drifting— not just to the building, but to Morgan. To the woman she had become… and the life that had shaped her long before piracy, long before the hardened edges she carried now within herself. The pieces began to settle together, faintly and imperfectly… but enough to form something resembling understanding, within Velira’s mind. Her gaze returned to Morgan, softening just slightly.

She followed as the Captain began to step forwards. Morgan moved with a sense of clear familiarity, slipping down a narrow alley that curved behind the structure, shadows closing in around them as the noise of the city dulled into something distant. Velira kept pace beside her, silent and observant just beyond her shoulder. At the far end, nearly concealed beneath layers of dust and debris, a steel door waited before them.

Morgan paused, as without a word, she brushed away the thick coating of dust from an old keypad to expose the worn buttons beneath. Her fingers moved with familiarity, quickly punching in a code. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the system responded. The mechanisms gradually flared to life, old locks shifting and sliding with a reluctant sound before finally disengaging. The durasteel door creaked open, revealing darkness beyond.

The air inside was heavier as they first stepped inside. Stagnant, with a faint lingering edge of years of smoke. Aside from the dust that blanketed every surface, the space remained as it had been abandoned. Glass panels lined the upper ceiling, allowing a faint wash of pale light to filter in, tinted blue and gold by the ever present glow of Nar Shaddaa’s skyline beyond. It cast long, fractured beams across the shadowed interior, catching on floating dust particles that drifted slowly through the stillness.

At the center, a curved bar stretched across the room, its polished surface dulled by time. Bar stools sat unevenly around it, some upright, others toppled over where they had been abandoned mid motion. A few glasses remained on the counter, one cracked along the rim, another knocked its side. Nearby, a scattered spread of sabacc cards lay frozen in place, in a game that had never been finished.

Morgan grew quiet. Velira noticed it immediately— the shift in her, subtle, but unmistakable. The way she stood, the way her gaze traveled across the room… not as a stranger, but as someone stepping back into something deeply familiar.

“So, this is where you grew up…” Velira said at last, her voice softer now as it flowed through the silence, more careful as she let the words settle into the space. She stepped closer, reaching out to rest a gentle hand against Morgan’s right shoulder, light and grounding despite the cool touch, while her own gaze swept across the room again.

The space felt different in almost every way than what Velira had known, at such a young age. Where Velira had been raised among the stone walls and structured silence, in a grand palace where every movement had been a formality, each word measured, every meal delivered without question… This place was something else entirely..

And yet— There was something else Velira could understand, even if only in fragments. Not in the sprawl of somewhere that had once been filled with voices and life, but in the echo of it… The way a place could linger with memory, long after it had been abandoned. And the quiet weight of what it had once been, pressed into the walls, woven into the air. Velira had come to many places as such, each different in form, but the same in feeling.

She withdrew her hand after a long moment, beginning to drift toward the bar with quiet curiosity. She slipped behind it, crouching slightly as she opened one of the cabinets beneath. “Still fully stocked…” Velira remarked softly to herself, as she drew out an old bottle of Ipellrilla fire water. She brushed away the layer of dust with the side of her hand before setting it atop the counter, retrieving two glasses and polishing them clean with a nearby cloth. Velira poured without hesitation, the liquid catching the faint light as it filled each glass, warm and amber.

She slid one across the counter toward Morgan before lifting her own, downing it in a single, smooth motion. The burn followed immediately… sharp and biting, tracing a path down her throat. “Your Mother certainly must’ve known how to serve the strong stuff, if that was any indication,” Velira finally said, exhaling slowly as she set the empty glass back down.

She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin against her hand, her elbow against the counter as she looked up at Morgan. Her crimson gaze had softened again, curious now, but threaded with something more thoughtful. “What… made you decide to stop back here, Captain, after all these years…?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady. “And your Mother… What was she like?”

Velira fell silent for a long moment, listening to Morgan. Her gaze drifted slowly across the walls again in consideration, tracing each faded painting, each line and color preserved beneath the thin veil of dust. There was something almost reverent in the way she looked at them… No longer as curiosities, but as fragments of a life once lived. Something close to a smile touched her red lips, in an expression of understanding.

For all the differences that flowed between them… the contrasts in how they fought, how they existed, Morgan carrying the fiery heat and force of life while Velira moved through the world like something quieter, shaped by death…. This was something she could grasp.

“You wanted to leave your planet, to see something else, to see beauty in other parts of the galaxy…” she began softly, more to herself at first, her voice thoughtful as the pieces aligned. “That… I can understand, Morgan. I was… the same way,” Velira finally said with a soft breath.

Her gaze lingered on the wall a moment longer before shifting back to Morgan, that faint smile returning. “I happen to like your drawings, banthas and all… My drawings of choice at that age, were always Keeradaks. And bats.”

The fact that Morgan had chosen to show her this, to share something so personal, softened something deep within Velira’s chest. That quiet warmth stirred again, unfamiliar and strange, but steadily becoming less unwelcome. Velira stepped forward, closing the distance between them, as she slipped her arms around Morgan from behind in a gentle embrace. Her touch was light and careful, her cheek just barely brushing against the curve of Morgan’s shoulder.

And then— A faint, hollow creak began to sound beneath her heel. Velira stilled, her head tilting slightly as she felt the subtle give of the floor beneath her. She released Morgan slowly, stepping back just enough to crouch, her fingers brushing along the edges of the worn floorboard before carefully prying it loose. It lifted with a soft creak, revealing a small, hidden space beneath.

Inside, rested a pale blue tooka. The stuffed animal was worn with time, yet somehow preserved, its soft form untouched by the years that had passed above it. Velira reached down, lifting it carefully, her gaze lowering as she examined it. The stitching along its seams remained intact, and as she turned it slightly, she noticed a small name sewn into the underside of its foot…Turel.

Without a word, Velira rose and extended it toward Morgan, placing the stuffed creature into her hands. The sight lingered— this small, delicate thing in the hands of a woman who had learned to endure with fire and steel. “Somehow… I feel certain he would want you to have this,” Velira finally said gently.

She stepped back, her gaze drifting once more across the room— over the walls, over the quiet remnants of the life that had once filled it. Her hand lingered near one of the paintings, fingers hovering just above its surface as she studied it more closely, careful not to disturb what time had left behind. “A princess?” Velira murmured softly.

Velira caught every subtle shift— the hitch in Morgan’s breath, the tightening of her grip, the uneven rise and fall of each exhale. And the tears, her tears, held stubbornly at bay. It was not the product of study, nor the result of years spent learning to read others with clinical precision…This was something else entirely, within Velira. Something quieter. Deeper. It settled within her, coiling with a warmth she could not quite name, threading through her in a way that felt… alive. Her gaze softened, and did not once leave Morgan as she spoke. Velira remained silent, holding onto to each word she said, with no attempt to guide the moment. She simply listened, allowing each word to land, to take shape, as more of who Morgan was underneath it all, came into view.

Avaleen. Connor. Turel… The names hovered there in Velira’s mind, the names of those who were important to Morgan. Something shifted in her expression at the mention of the drawings, at the girl, and the joy that she had carried within her. Velira knew, with quiet certainty and without doubt, that she would have loved both Avaleen and Connor… Even with nothing more than stories to go on. The thought struck deeper than she expected, brushing against something long buried— A quiet, unspoken longing she had never allowed herself to name. There had always been a part of her that wondered… What it might have been like, to have something like that. A family. Something fragile, but real. But it had never been meant for her. Not her kind. And to have something like that taken… so suddenly, so completely— It was a depth of grief Velira could not fully comprehend… and yet, she felt the weight of it, living within Morgan.

Finally, she stepped forward, moving as a wraith… One that seemed to flicker around Morgan, a smoky shadow to balance the fire within… Even as there was more slipping through the cracks. That much Velira could see, could feel, as she gently reached out with her senses… Not to implore deeper, not to draw out, but to act as a shadow of comfort, as she felt the shifting tides of each emotion that ran through Morgan. And yet even now… there was something else living within her own mind. Something warmer, softer, that threaded through the spaces Velira had once kept closed.

Her hand extended gently, the cool touch of her pale hand resting against the warmth of Morgan’s face, fingers lightly brushing against the shimmer of tears that had begun to gather there. Her other hand settled around Morgan to hold her, to draw her close within a gentle yet firm embrace.

And through it all, that warm feeling settled deeper within her chest… The closest thing to a heartbeat that Velira had ever known, even within a body that held none. She did not retreat from it this time. She allowed herself to remain alongside it, to feel it, as her crimson gaze lifted to meet Morgan’s. To truly see her. Velira let out a slow, measured breath, her voice quiet but unwavering as it finally came.

“You told me not to fight it… not to hold the feelings in… And here I stand beside you, saying the same to you….” Her gaze held the woman’s at this, gently and steady. Offering to hold some of the weight… to remain alongside her. “You do not have to carry this alone, Morgan. Not anymore.”

Velira let out a slow breath, staying close. “I’m… grateful that you brought me here. That you chose me to see this part of you. You matter to me… Far more than I’ve allowed myself to say,” She slowly admitted as she held Morgan’s gaze, the usual restraint that she carried, beginning to falter at the edges just enough to let the truth out. “Morgan, you matter more than…anything…” Velira finally whispered, as her voice slipped into something more fragile, leaving her as a gentle breath.

Velira stilled for a long moment. Frozen. She did not step forward again as Morgan retreated. She did not try to change what she felt, for each blow of her words as they landed, did not even so much as speak. Instead, she knelt in silence, slowly picking up the stuffed animal. Carefully and tenderly, within own her pale hands, she placed it against an old wooden table.

She did not move— not until she heard Morgan’s cries. The sharp, unraveling sound of them, the way her hands twisted into her own hair, pulling, breaking… feeling. That was what drew Velira forward, on instinct. She slipped from the shadows slowly, her movements quiet, as she lowered herself beside Morgan, to her level. Velira extended a hand slowly… And yet… she did not touch her. Not this time. She simply let it remain between them, enough to let Morgan know that she was not alone in this.

Her words settled deep within Velira, unlocking something she had long kept buried, even from herself. The weight of loss. And yet… Morgan had carried that weight, in ways that were heavier, in a life so much shorter than her own. It was not something Velira could fault her for, even now… If only for the one simple fact, that in her own way, she could understand.

For a moment, her gaze grew distant. She would not lie to Morgan…. would not offer comfort built on falsehoods, nor promises she could not keep. She would not try to soften what Morgan felt, or reshape it into something easier to bear. Velira had always known there would come a day… perhaps centuries from now, where she would no longer remain as she was. Where something within her would overtake what she had fought to preserve. And in her eyes… that fate would be no different than death— only slower, more hollow. Death itself, would be a kindness.

She took a shaky breath as the thought clouded her mind once again. Only then, did Velira finally extend her hand. Letting it rest against Morgan’s shoulder, feeling the heat, feeling the life that burnt within her. Feeling the steady beat of her heart, faster now, from the intensity of her emotions.

And yet, the softness that had once lingered across Velira’s features had shifted, tempered into something more resolute. “I know, that you have lost much… I have learned what it is that haunts you, night after night… The nightmares, this…” She began slowly, and yet even still, her voice had begun to grow more quieter with each passing word.

“You are the only person in this world, the only person in this galaxy, that I will not lie to. Not anymore, not since the day I saw that relic draining your very life…” Her voice sharpened at this with something else, at the very memory. For a brief moment, Velira’s gaze slid to Morgan’s arm, in what had since been replaced with crafted machinery, serving as a reminder of that very moment that still burned within her mind. Then, slowly, Velira lifted her eyes to meet Morgan’s again, holding her gaze. “And so, even now… I will not lie to you, Morgan…”

At this, Velira drew a shaky breath, withdrawing and bringing her hand back, while still remaining where she was. Her gaze grew distant for a long moment, the features of her face shifting to one that was more solemn, despite the warmth of what she felt within her being for Morgan. That feeling that Velira had once tried to tell herself was a byproduct of her hunger, that it wasn’t real… It was one she was finally learning to stop running from, if only for one simple fact— Their time together, in one way or another, would be fleeting.

She turned to look at Morgan this time, fully look at her, at each feature of her face even it was etched in pain. Memorizing her, as she was… Holding onto her within her own mind, as something to carry within herself through the years, through decades long after. Finally, Velira began to speak again, her own voice beginning to grow heavier.

“Even if fate is kind to us Morgan. To you. And to me. Do you know what will happen…?” For a moment, the look in her own crimson eyes turned to something hollow. Velira dug her own nails into her fists, tightening her composure, even as her own form began to shake. “With each passing day, you will grow older, while I remain… this. Unchanging. You will slow down, day by passing day, year by year. And then, you will be gone. You will fade away. And I will have to go on for existing for two more centuries without you, possibly more, until I turn feral.”

Her gaze broke this time, as her own tears threatened to slide free alongside Morgan’s. Velira drew a deep breath, in a desperate attempt to steady herself, even as she could not stop the shivering that had begun to coil through her own cold form.

“I have… about fifty seven more years I would get to spend with you, and that is if fate is kind. That is… It is such a small, fleeting fragment of time,” Her voice broke slightly at this notion, as for once, Velira did not fully block it out of her mind. Finally, she looked back at Morgan, drawing a deep breath.

“I don’t want to lose you either, Morgan,” Velira finally continued, her voice dropping to that of a whisper. And yet, the look in her gaze shifted, softened into something more certain. “And yet… knowing that, I don’t want to waste a single moment of the time I have with you… the time that we have.”

Velira listened in silence as Morgan spoke, absorbing each word. Accepting them…accepting her, in all the uncertainty, all the shifting edges of emotion that came with it. And yer, the moment Velira felt the warmth of Morgan’s hand against her own, something within her stilled. The faint shiver that had traced through her cold form, born of feeling— began to ease, settling into something quieter. Softer… A rare, unfamiliar sense of contentment. She did not pull away. Instead, she remained there, allowing it to linger.

The tension in her shoulders melted beneath Morgan’s touch, her posture no longer rigid. She leaned into the warmth, into the contact, her body unconsciously seeking the closeness rather than resisting it. And yet, one thing was clear to her… That Morgan had brought her here at all— had allowed herself to reach this point, after everything she had endured, meant something far deeper than words. She was trying. And for Velira… that was more than enough.

Even still, she had always known, on some level, that whatever this was between them— their life, their time… would never resemble anything normal. Not the kind of future, the kind of normal that others might imagine: a quiet life in some polished Coruscant apartment, or a distant home tucked away among rolling hills. That had never truly belonged to her to begin with. And yet… she found she did not mind. If anything, there was a quiet certainty in her that even if such a life had been within reach… she was not entirely sure she would have chosen it for herself.

A life of absolute, guaranteed safety was not something fate would have in store for them— Velira knew that instinctively. She always had. Not with who Morgan was… and certainly not with what Velira herself carried. The need to hunt, constant and unyielding, was not something that would ever truly leave her… No matter how often she wished it might. And yet, alongside Morgan, with whatever life they’d lead… Perhaps, Velira no longer had to wish for anything different. Not unless she began to change… The thought stirred, sharp and unwelcome. She cut it off before it could take hold.

And yet, the notion of a different kind of future began to take shape in her mind— one not rooted in stillness, but in motion. Waking aboard the Kraken, the low hum of its systems beneath her feet. Setting course for distant worlds, new horizons unfolding one after another, each more unknown than the last. And doing so beside Morgan. It was the kind of life her younger self would have dreamed of… freedom not as escape, but as something truly lived, something shared. Even with all its complications… And even with the paperwork, that came with each deal or conquest.

“A decent life?” she echoed at last, the words slow with thought. A faint smile began to trace across her lips, subtle and touched with the barest hint of amusement, as her gaze lifted to meet Morgan’s. “You should know that I am quite content with a life of piracy, Captain Morgan Sorenn… In fact, I think I’d even prefer it.”

Velira’s eyes drifted closed as Morgan’s forehead pressed against her own, the contact grounding in a way she had not expected. She leaned into it, into her, drawing just a fraction closer as that quiet warmth in her chest began to bloom into something deeper… something steady. The space between them began to fade. Velira leaned forward, her lips brushing softly against Morgan’s lips as she closed the distance. Her hand rose to touch the side of Morgan’s face through the kiss, fingers resting lightly against warm skin, with a quiet sense of care.

After a moment, she slowly pulled back, eyes fluttering back open to meet Morgan’s gaze with her own. “For you, to let me this close… that says more than words ever could…” Velira said slowly, her voice soft. “You’re right. We’re both messes.… And we don’t need to have all the answers for this to mean something. Not right now.”

Her gaze lingered on Morgan for a moment longer, thoughtful, before it shifted—something quieter settling beneath the surface. Morgan had spoken of her mother… of her past, her loss. Velira felt it then, the quiet pull to meet that trust, to offer some truth within herself in return.

“My Mother… She died, centuries ago. That necklace I was after at the gala… It was hers,” She finally said, the words leaving her calmly this time. “And my home…” Her eyes drifted to the drawing of the princess with a sense of softness, to the faint, worn shape of a castle beside her. “It looked something like that.”