The Ghost In The Wardrobe

Satine squinted into the macrobinoculars at the crest of the uneven pile of debris.

“I can just make out their clan insignia. They used to be Clan Kryze allies. I can probably negotiate with them.

“Probably?” Obi-Wan reached out with the Force to sense the mood of the approaching warriors, but it wasn’t very helpful. They were ill at ease in the ruined landscape, but focused on their intent to scavenge useful technology or valuables from the shattered dome where he and Satine were sheltering.

She shrugged slightly. “Loyalties change. Still, I’d rather meet them on my own terms than have them find me cowering.” She started to scale the slope, but the shattered transparisteel shifted under her shoes, bringing her back down next to him.

“Wait. Satine. I don’t like it,” he countered. The thought of her putting herself in danger, trusting an alliance that had probably been invalidated by her father’s death, put knots in his stomach.

“I don’t like it either, but I think it’s our only option. They’ll be here in a few moments.”

The stream of shattered transparisteel pooled around her shoes but then seemed to drain under them like sand through an ancient timekeeping device. Obi-Wan shifted it with his foot; sure enough, the sole of his boot hit a metallic grate. He kicked more sand out of the way. Whether it had been a drain or an air vent he wasn’t sure, but it was large, and it had to lead somewhere.

“There’s another way.”

She didn’t respond, and when he looked up, she was already scrambling up the slope again, reaching for a slab of broken duracrete. It crumbled under her hand, and she slid back again, letting out a huff of frustration.

Obi-Wan caught her, one hand lightly on her shoulder, the other gripping her wrist.

“Listen to me.”

She spun, glaring down at his hand on her arm.

“You say listen, but I think what you mean is obey,” she retorted.

“I don’t mean that,” he said, stunned.

She was an impetuous person (decisive, she called it), and preferred to keep her own counsel. He felt like he’d spent the past few weeks at her heels, calling listen, listen, over and over. He never supposed she would take it in that light. But it made sense; following orders was expected of a soldier’s daughter.

“What do you mean then?” she demanded.

“I just mean… hear me out. You know that I’m clever-“

“And modest,” she muttered, though she didn’t deny it.

“You know the Force is my ally. Most of all you know that I care for you.”

She looked up, pink blooming on her cheeks as she met his gaze.

“I would not let harm come to you. I have a plan. When I say listen, I just mean trust me.”

The glint of beskar in her eyes softened. She leaned forward suddenly, and the brush of her lips against his cheek was hot.