smooth criminal

The cemetery was bathed in moonlight and fog, which somehow made every headstone look like it was leaning a little closer than before. Perfect night for grave robbing. Kinley's droid companion emitted a series of unhappy beeps as they passed through the rusted gate. "You're kidding, right?"...

Kinley Pryse looked asleep. She sat in the pilot's chair of the Canto Belle with her boots propped on the console, hat tipped low over her face. One arm hung loosely off the side of the chair while the soft hum of hyperspace filled the cockpit. The ship drifted through the blue tunnel of...

Kinley Pryse sat sideways in the pilot's chair, boots braced against the console, the hum of the ship's systems filling the quiet like a heartbeat. The cockpit lights were low, just enough to paint everything in soft amber and shadow. She hadn't bothered to clean the blood off her knuckles yet...

Flint wasn't the kind of Devaronian who raised his voice, he didn't need to. His anger radiated like heat off starship hull plating, filling the backroom of the Cantonica skyrail depot until the very air felt poisonous. Kinley Pryse would've spat a joke if she'd had enough breath to shape one...

Kinley Pryse stepped into the care wing of the nursing complex on Ord Mantell, where the walls hummed with the quiet efficiency of med-droids and recycled air. The lighting was soft, but sterile. Too clean, too quiet. She hated the smell of it, antiseptic and endings. She was without her hat...