As she often did when she could not sleep, Auteme went back to her office to work. The Chancellor's personal estate was spacious and quiet, particularly in the evenings; her security was unequaled in the galaxy, the privacy of her office was beyond compare. Yet still, she tread carefully with every word she traced on the page.

Lucien,

Even after all this time I still don't really know where to start, other than with me. I wish I hadn't been such a coward, and talked with you about this when we had the chance. Now it feels almost too late, even though we've never been in better positions.

When we were on Nirauan, I could tell you had good intentions. You were working with what you had, doing what was best in a system that incentivizes the worst. It was almost a romantic view of imperialism. The new kind, at least. Your 'defiant spirit' — it extended not just to fighting the Sith, but even pushing the boundaries of what was allowed under imperialism.

Is that gone? Is the weight of the Empire crushing you? I was never able to talk to you about it, but it must have been… impossible, being suddenly put on that throne. I understand why you'd abdicate. But Luc, you still have the power. How long are you going to remain heir? When will you take up the responsibility of helping to fix things? We could literally change the galaxy, now, you and I. I want to change the galaxy with you. Even surrounded by the best people (which I'm not always) I feel like I'm working alone without you.

I know it's probably more complicated. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if you never wanted to be a leader. Always the underdog, the resistor, the defiant. And maybe that's okay. But it grates at me when you're there, and it seems like nothing in the Empire will ever change. Maybe that's the system — the self-preserving power of empire. But I've always seen you as someone who could stand up to that kind of power.

It hurts. It really does. If you just… abandoned that all, came here, stayed with me, it'd clear everything up. Make it simpler. Not even just for me, but for every opportunist breathing down my neck in the Alliance, waiting for a weakness so they can pour in the evidence. I mean — when Gore was chatting it up about me having imperial connections, I was honestly terrified that he was about to pull receipts. We were hardly perfect about keeping things quiet. Coruscant, Nirauan, Shili — Luc, we went to the ball of a moff who would end up as (briefly) the Dark Lord of the Sith. Gore wasn't savvy enough to know all that, much less use it effectively, but the moment M thinks I'm in a bad position, the floodgates open. I am walking a deadly fine line.

I feel like I'm keeping a dirty secret, when all I really have is love. For you. I miss you. And I want you here. Ryv is gone, I never have time to talk to Loske, Aaran and Bernard keep disappearing. I don’t even have Kirie to watch my back. I feel like I barely know any Jedi anymore, and the Senate is pulling away from me.

If you just came here, we could g


The pen fell out of her hand. She took a deep breath. Then another. Then another. And another. Enough, until she stopped shaking.

She picked up the paper, opened a drawer in her desk, and placed it neatly on top of the other letters. She rose, purged of regret, and went silently back to bed.