Private Among the Fog and Ruin

[Shade]

The storm had broken hours ago, but the sky still carried the look of a cauterized wound—thin veils of ash-gray cloud stretched over fractured mesas, mist coiling low through the abandoned lift platforms like breath that refused to die. Shade stood at the edge of the highest station, boots planted on durasteel washed slick by fog, the cold air brushing against her in a way she found almost comforting. The mission behind her had been clean. Fast. Efficient. Exactly how her work should be.

The research outpost below lay dead and dark, its power grid severed, its servers gutted, its memory overwritten by the cascading virus she'd left behind. The silent glow of dying circuitry flickered through broken windows, like the last tremors of a star collapsing in on itself. Whoever came next would find nothing—no logs, no schematics, no trace. Shade held the only thing worth taking: a sealed data capsule resting against her ribs beneath her jacket, its biosignature lock still faintly warm from where she'd bypassed it.

The target was a corporate engineer working for the Crimson Exchange, hoarding illicit weapons schematics in mnemonic crystals. He'd expected bounty hunters, mercenaries, or Cartel enforcers. He had not expected her.

The confrontation had lasted eight seconds.
Only two involved violence.

Two perimeter sentries had fallen silently—one choked out with micro-corded wire, the other pacified with a whisper-quick injection of nerve suppressant. Shade bypassed the vault's pressure seals, extracted the crystals, and vanished into the storm. When she hit fifty meters, the virus triggered, devouring everything left behind.

A faint pulse of sparks rose from the outpost now, a final exhale before stillness returned.

Shade lifted her fingers to her comm, voice even and precise.

"This is Shade. Package acquired. Secondary objective complete."

She stepped away from the cliffside, scanning the fog-choked ravines below where the skeletal tram-lines faded into nothing. No movement. No reinforcements. Anything still alive in that facility had fled long before she arrived.

Her stance shifted slightly, weight changing with quiet purpose, hand resting lightly near the grip of her charric.

"Area is compromised. Recommend immediate extraction."

The wind curled around her, lifting loose strands of silver-black hair across her cheek. She brushed them aside, posture remaining unwavering—no impatience, no concern, controlled readiness. Her eyes narrowed toward the horizon where the stormline fractured into pale blue light.

Somewhere behind her, the virus finished its work.

Somewhere ahead, she felt the first ripple—
not sound, not motion, but presence.

Her extraction.

Crosten Feyn didn't approach loudly. He never had. He moved like a ghost through the galaxy, soundless and deliberate, and Shade had long ago learned that she rarely saw him until he was close enough to touch. That was why she'd chosen him for this. Why did she trust him with the exit when she trusted so few at all?

She exhaled once, soft enough to disappear under the hum of the wind.

"Extraction team will be one individual," she murmured to the empty air, tone almost wry,
"but capable enough."

The air distorted faintly along the far ridge—too subtle for human eyes, but not for hers.

Shade straightened.
Her pulse did not change.
Her stance remained still and sure.

"Feyn," she said, knowing the moment he came within range, he would hear her,
"I trust your timing hasn't changed."

A heartbeat.
A shift in the wind, unnatural and precise.

Then, quieter:

"I'm here."

And she did not flinch.

Not for the storm.
Not for the silence.
Not for him.

Only waited—steady, ready—for Crosten Feyn to bring her home.

 

[Crosten Feyn]

The job hadn't come through typical channels. It was far from that type of gig. It had been handed to him in secret by a trusted source. These sorta contracts didn't commonly fall his way, but Crosten sure loved when they did. The additional danger payout always made them very lucrative contracts to take.

By now, he'd been in position for a while. Far enough away from everything to evade detection, yet still near enough to close the distance rapidly once the signal came through.

"Echo Six, commence extraction." Crackled the radio with that very signal.

"Roger. Moving out." Was all Crosten spoke before shifting up on the flight-stick to bring his starship into a sharp descent. The black void of space became filled with atmospheric fog. Below, the surface was one gray rolling mass of clouds that made for perfect cover.

"Echo Six; going silent. Resume comms no later than T-thirty." Spoke Crosten,

"Roger." Came the simple reply, the lingering static cutting out with the flick of a button, followed by a crank of the seat-side switch. The muffled whine of the power systems spun down, fading away to a faint rumbling clatter caused by faint turbulence during the silent descent. Ahead through the front window lay an endless expanse of grey, shifting in brightness as the ship cut through the clouds.

Stealth remained key, and accuracy remained paramount. He had to land this thing as close to the extraction point as possible. A task that normally was trivial, given normal landings called for the use of his engines to enable a controlled descent. Not this contract. He'd have to bring the ship down horizontally like ancient pilots used to. Careful control eased the ship down lower and lower. It was at the last moment that the clouds broke to unveil a surface suddenly close ahead.

Pulling up sharply, Crosten turned the ship up just in time, landing with a soft thud that shook the smuggler in his seat. Another switch triggered the air brakes, sending him jolting forward from the sheer force of the inertia. Only when the ship had slowed to a near halt was he able to push himself back into his seat.

The ship rolled to a silent stop. A quick check of his gear, and Crosten was off. He slipped through the exit hatch, boots hitting the ground with a soft crunch. He wasn't sure how much further he'd need to travel on foot. All he'd known was that he hadn't overshot the objective. Time would tell how close he'd been able to get.

It took little time to tell that he'd gotten rather close indeed.

Ahead in the distance lay a lone silhouette breaking through the misty fog seeping along the planet's surface. Even at this distance. he needn't see clearly to know that it could only be her. To hear her voice removed doubt that had never been there.

"Shade." spoke Crosten in a hushed tone. A slight shake of his head, largely to himself, unlikely went unnoticed by the observant Chiss far ahead.

"Well, being at the right place at the right time's what I made a career out of." He added, beckoning her towards him as he continued to approach. "Got the ship parked about 8 minutes back. Killed the engines so scanners couldn't catch the signature. Ain't seen no scouting drones, so we oughta be all clear."

"Hopefully it takes them at least that long to figure out what you've just been up to." He added with a warm, soft laugh, turning in place to lead the way back to the ship.

Shade

 

[Shade]

The moment she heard his voice—quiet, steady, unmistakably his—Shade turned just enough for her silhouette to break cleanly through the lingering mist. The low, drifting fog curled around her boots as she stepped forward, her movements still precise despite the long silence of waiting. Every instinct remained alert, scanning for signs of pursuit or surveillance, but her posture softened by a fraction when her eyes settled on him.

Crosten Feyn always arrived like this—appearing out of the haze, half-ghost, half-shadow, with that easy calm of someone who had survived too many things he shouldn't have. She could respect that. Depend on it.

She closed the distance between them with deliberate steps, the faint hum of cooling metal from the ruined compound behind her fading with each stride. The fog swallowed most of the world around them, but Crosten's silhouette remained a fixed point—solid, familiar, reliable in a way most people never earned from her.

"Eight minutes?" she murmured, her tone even and low, with a trace of acknowledgment threading through the words.
"Good work. That window will hold."

She came to stand beside him, cloak shifting in the cold breeze, her crimson eyes scanning the direction he indicated before cutting back to his face. There was no smile, no overt praise—but the subtle relaxation of her shoulders was more telling than either.

"No drones means the network is still blind." A beat, thoughtful. "They'll assume internal sabotage for at least half an hour before they look outward."

It was her version of reassurance—and a quiet admission that his timing had been flawless.

As Crosten turned to lead the way, Shade fell into step behind him, her pace silent but unhurried. The wind brushed strands of silver-black hair across her cheek, and she swept them back with a gloved hand, eyes still tracking every flicker of movement through the fog.

"Extraction path is clean." Another calm breath. "And yes…they'll figure out what I did." Her voice dipped slightly, a wry undertone barely audible. "But not soon enough."

Her footsteps sounded like nothing—controlled weight, controlled breath, the soft whisper of fabric on metal grating as she walked. She didn't look back at the outpost. There was nothing left behind worth considering.

When Crosten's laugh reached her, Shade's head tilted faintly, an almost imperceptible gesture of amusement—not open, but present.

"Let's move." A calm, decisive command. "We'll be off-world before they even patch the breach."

She followed him into the fog, her outline merging with it, the data capsule secure beneath her coat and her composure unbroken—mission complete, extraction underway, and trust placed exactly where she intended it to be.

Crosten Feyn

 

[Crosten Feyn]

Eight minutes. That meant they were still a couple of minutes ahead of the plan. One that had gone well, going by the lack of commotion. With any luck, they could be out of here in another eight. Things didn't always go this smooth, and the experienced smuggler savoured when it did. Still deep in hostile territory, he knew it wasn't until things were over that they could truly breathe easy. Still, that Shade was involved gave him added assurance.

No doubt nobody saw a thing.

"We oughta be out of here in no time." Crosten replied simply with a nod that was more friendly than formal.

Crosten strode behind Shade, leading the way back through the thick, roaming fog towards his ship. It was all so thick and dark that he could barely see ahead. Were it not for the coordinates on his wrist computer, he'd have had a hell of a time finding the thing in this weather. Conditions couldn't have gone better for this particular contract.

Better pay and smoother sailing. There was a reason he'd jump to take contracts such as this, and he'd have done it more were they not so uncommon. He knew he could make it a more steady thing, but he knew that'd require signing up and pledging time to some organization. As much as he liked the pay, the smuggler supposed he valued the freedom of independence that much more.

"No drones means the network is still blind." A beat, thoughtful. "They'll assume internal sabotage for at least half an hour before they look outward."

"You work as thorough as ever." Crosten nodded affirmatively. There'd been no sign of detection, no drones, no scouts, no signs of mobilization. Shade's reply confirmed what the smuggler had safely assumed - that she'd completed her task without becoming compromised...for not just the time being, but for some time after that. They'd be on their way over, but it was bound to awhile before the actual chaos started.

Destruction and dead bodies always had a way of whipping folks into a frenzy.

Not that they were about to stick around and see it. Shade had worked clean, and now it would be up to him to take it from here. The brisk walk back went quickly. After a matter of minutes travel. the dark shape of the ship finally broke through it.

"Entry hatch is up here through the back." He spoke, not even skipping a beat as he made his way beneath the ship. Yanking hard on a handle hanging from the undercarriage jostled the ladder free, sending it plummeting until the legs hit the ground.

"Even adjusted the passenger seat for ya." He added with a wry smile.

Shade

 

[Shade]

Shade didn't smile—not in the obvious way, not with anything that broke the composed lines of her expression—but there was a subtle shift at the corner of her mouth, a faint softening that only someone who'd flown her in and out of fire enough times would recognize. It was the closest she got to amusement in the field. Or appreciation. Or both.

She paused at the base of the ladder, boots settling lightly on the damp metal as the fog curled around her ankles. The ship's silhouette loomed above them, half-devoured by mist, every contour swallowed in shadow except for the faint gleam of the ladder's rungs. Crosten's prideful little smile tugged her gaze to the side.

"Adjusted the seat?"

The dry edge of her tone brushed across the space between them with the same precision she treated a blade—soft enough to be teasing, sharp enough that the tease wasn't obvious. She set one gloved hand on the first rung, making the climb look almost effortless.

"I didn't realize your hospitality extended that far."

The fog swirled in her wake as she ascended. Halfway up, she glanced back over her shoulder—not down at him, but toward the ravine behind them, scanning one last time through the shifting vapor for movement, light, sound. Old habit. Necessary one. Only when she was satisfied that the valley remained silent did she slip into the ship's interior.

Inside, she paused just long enough to take in the cockpit—the faint hum of dormant systems, the cold gloss of the console screens, the familiar cramped curve of the passenger seat he'd so proudly mentioned. She reached out, brushing two fingers across the headrest as if testing for dust, then lowered herself into it with the kind of controlled grace that came from someone who expected combat in every new environment.

Her gaze flicked toward him again as he climbed in behind her.

"Comfortable."

A beat.

"Efficient."

Then, finally—so faint it could almost be missed:

"…thank you."

It wasn't her tone that shifted. It was her eyes. A warmer note there, subtle but unmistakable. Something that spoke to trust earned over time, the kind of trust Shade Tal'voss did not give freely, even to allies.

She settled back, fastening the harness with a precise click.

"Let's go before the silence becomes suspicious."

A quiet nudge of approval.
A warning.
And an unspoken acknowledgment that when she chose someone for exfil, she chose well.

Crosten Feyn

 

[Crosten Feyn]

"You'll have to settle for the seat, I'm afraid the conform-couch's in the shop." He replied to her remark with a jesting grin, climbing up the ladder into the ship. "Glad you find casa del Crosten comfortable." He added, with a smile that more genuine and serious than his earlier grin. With the task near completion, he'd been pleased; but now that he was back in his starship he truly began to relax. So used to travel and unable to stay in one spot for long, it was truly home for him.

"And welcome. Glad to be working with ya again." He added, approaching the pilots seat. He practically dropped down into it, setting in. Now normally, he'd take a moment to wait and observe before departure; a habit acquired through decades of experience. While normally an unwise step to skip, there didn't seem much point to do so. The ship's external camera showed nothing but grey on the screen. The situation was still too covert to activate the scanners, yet the fog was so thick sensors were of no use, either. What obscured them from detection made as well as the soon-to-be hostiles out on the surface.

Besides, vision was impacted by these conditions, but The Force was not. Probably. Least, as far as he knew. There were two things he was sure of however. First, that time was of the essence; and second, if something was going wrong...she'd know. He sure wasn't working with an amateur, Shade was as experienced and diligent as they came.

"Alright, let's get outta here." Crosten said as he hit the ship's ignition, bringing the engines to life with a steady whine. The sensors that he had been so reluctant to use became active, revealing.....nothing notable within range. The job had gone perfectly to plan, and now they were just a few short minutes away from a success. With a measured touch, Crosten adjusted the throttle that fed to the engines and the ship began to rise. With the engines on out of necessity, they were at risk of detection. Once off the ground, Crosten slammed the switch forward to send the ship bolting forward, slamming him back into his seat from the sudden acceleration. The hazy fog ripped past the windshield as the craft climbed up at rapid speed, giving way to rapidly moving clouds once they finally broke through the cover.

The atmosphere dimmed, giving way to the blackness of space.

Off the surface.

Task complete.

They even had an extra four minutes.

"Alpha One; Echo Six is live again. Echo Five has been extracted. Objective complete."

Shade

 

[Shade]

The cockpit lights shifted in an instant, the soft white glow cutting to sharp amber as a chorus of alarms ignited behind them. Amber strobes pulsed over the controls, and warning tones layered into a rising, urgent cadence. Shade didn't need to read the sensor display to know what it meant—their departure had finally been noticed.

The ship jolted as the engines opened into a harder climb, the sudden lift pressing Shade back into her seat. The fog vanished beneath them, replaced by shearing cloud, then the deepening blue of the upper atmosphere. Another alarm flared—a proximity ping, narrow-band and hostile.

Shade didn't tense. She simply turned her head toward the readout, watching the signatures bloom and sharpen like small, angry stars behind them. When she finally spoke, her voice was steady, almost quiet, but edged with the dry precision only a Chiss could make sound like amusement.

"It appears someone objected to our departure."

Another alarm shrieked as the ship cut a sharper angle, the inertial dampeners groaning under the strain. Shade didn't look away from the sensors, merely tilted her head a fraction, her posture still elegant, unshaken.

"Their timing is inconvenient."

A beat passed, her crimson gaze flicking once toward the co-pilot display, then forward again toward the stars. The hum of acceleration deepened as the ship surged harder into its ascent. Shade let a slow breath move through her chest, then allowed the faintest curl of expression to touch her mouth—dry, razor-thin, unmistakably hers.

"Your ship remains…adequately comfortable."
A pause, deliberate.
"Even under pursuit."

The alarms grew louder, more insistent, demanding attention. Shade ignored them, gaze lifting to the viewport where the first edge of space began to swallow the last hints of sky.

"Do not let them grow confident."

No panic.
No haste.
Just quiet expectation.

And then, as the stars finally broke wide around them and the sensors shrieked in frustrated protest at the lost target lock, Shade leaned back in her seat—calm, composed, the storm behind them already fading into irrelevance.

"We remain ahead of schedule."

A soft exhale.
Another flicker of that Chiss half-smile.

"Acceptable."

Crosten Feyn

 

[Crosten Feyn]

The control panel was beset with various lights and displays, giving feedback on events going on within the ship and outside of it. Crosten's eyes remained glued to a faint green line on a small display mounted near the top of the controls. It wasn't a standard feature of the spacecraft; wired to sensors on the rear of the ship, the feed on the display was set up to crackle with activity should any incoming signal be received. The system had served the smuggler well over the years, acting as an early warning system for more..clandestine activity. Once he'd been spotted, interception soon followed. There'd been numerous times when he'd been quite grateful for the extra moments to ensure his transponder was prepared properly.

...The transponder also wasn't a standard part of the spacecraft's build. And spoofing a code wasn't gonna do them much good in this situation. It was at that thought that the steady line on the screen snapped into a flurry of waves, falling still before jumping to life again.

"Yeah, they sure noticed alright. We've just been acquired." He spoke, and pushed a switch up the board. The engines roared louder with the full power he'd set them to receive.

Inconvenient was an apt way to put it. Pursuit was always a nuisance, but it was a problem that was far from unfamiliar for the smuggler. To be spotted was one thing, but interception would be another. Getting away from folks was a skill he'd built a career out of, after all.

Time granted them distance, which quieted the numerous alarms going off. The detector displayed that same quiet green line, reassuring them both that their present position was unknown. The blaring engines were bound to give them away in time, which was a matter that he ought take care of.

"Well, thanks for the compliment. I do put a lot into this ship." Crosten replied with a subtle smile. Reaching up to the same switch as before, he pulled it all the way down and with the click of another button, the engines fell silent.

The once noisy ship, a cacophony of howling engines and blaring alarms, had become quiet and peaceful again. Unpowered, they moved through space by only their own inertia; of which plenty had been built up.

"Without the engines going, their scanners won't pick up anything at their range." He stated. Even if they did, at their present speed the ship would appear little different from a small asteroid careening through space. They'd need a precise scan to acquire them again, assuming they could even find their position in the dark. Even then, the detector would provide plenty of warning.

Essentially, but not entirely safe. They weren't set to make the jump to hyperspace just yet, but they'd get there in time.

"Gonna keep silent like this for a while." He spoke, turning towards Shade. "Good thing you can make yourself comfortable here" he added, with a soft jovial chuckle.

Shade

 

[Shade]

Shade didn't flinch when the alarms hit. She didn't stiffen, didn't look back, didn't betray so much as a breath out of place. Her eyes tracked the flickering green waveform once, memorizing the frequency spike, the rhythm of the acquisition sweep, the narrow margin between detection and lock-on. Her posture remained steady, grounded, the faintest tilt of her head the only sign she was calculating options, distances, escape vectors.

When the engines cut and the ship dropped into quiet drift, the sudden silence felt almost physical, like a pressure easing off the sternum. It wasn't safety—not yet—but it was a controlled limbo, one she knew how to operate in.

Her gaze shifted from the sensor feed to Crosten as he spoke, and the tiniest hint of a smirk curled at the corner of her mouth—so subtle it barely counted as expression, but unmistakably real.

Shade leaned back in the passenger seat as the engines fell silent, letting the ship's hum shift from a roaring force to the muted resonance of metal settling into stillness. The darkness beyond the viewport stretched out in a vast, unbroken ocean, the kind that swallowed lesser pilots whole. Most people grew uneasy in that quiet—in unpowered drift, in the absence of control, in the space between pursuit and escape. But Shade lived comfortably in that liminal place. To her, the quiet of a silent run was familiar, almost grounding, the kind of darkness she had known long before she ever set foot on Crosten's vessel.

Her gaze slid over the retrofitted panels with a deliberate, assessing sweep. She took in the wiring, the non-standard modules, the careful improvisation that spoke of long years spent keeping this vessel alive through ingenuity rather than luck. The system wasn't elegant in a traditional sense, but it was clever, responsive, tuned to its pilot with a kind of instinctual precision that few smugglers ever achieved.

"You do more than put effort into this," she said, her tone low but even, her eyes still tracing the shadows of the control board. "Your ship listens to you. She responds fast. Holds steady under pressure. That doesn't come from patchwork or luck—it comes from knowing exactly how to keep something alive."

She shifted slightly, letting the seat take her spine, her posture folding into a calm that bordered on predatory ease. Most operatives fidgeted during silent drift, restless with the inability to steer or accelerate. Shade breathed, her presence settling into the stillness like a shadow finally allowed to take its natural shape.

"Silent running doesn't bother me," she continued, her gaze lifting toward the darkness outside the viewport. "This is the part where most hunters start to panic. They expect noise. Reaction. Mistakes. Let them waste their energy searching the dark."

The faint glow from the console cast a soft line of light across her cheekbone as she turned her attention back to him. Shade rarely smiled, but a quiet thread of dry amusement touched her expression, warming the edges of her otherwise composed demeanor.

"Comfort is irrelevant. Predictability is what keeps people alive." She let her eyes meet his fully now, steady and unflinching. "And you are predictable in the ways that matter."

She eased further into the seat, crossing her legs with an unhurried, controlled motion. Her posture radiated the kind of steady confidence that made it easy to believe she could fall asleep in the middle of an ambush and wake only when it was time to kill the last man standing. Her attention drifted once more toward the window, where the starfield lay undisturbed—no signatures, no pursuit, no danger edging into scanning range.

"We drift, we wait, and the sky will lose us faster than they ever found us," she murmured, her voice soft but threaded with certainty.

Only then did she acknowledge his earlier quip with the faintest lift of her brow, the closest Shade ever came to a smile outside of rare, private moments.

"And yes," she added, her tone edged with subtle humor. "I can make myself comfortable anywhere."

Her gaze returned fully to him, crimson eyes steady and unbothered, the faint hum of the drifting ship settling around them like a held breath.

"Especially on a job that's gone exactly the way I planned."

Crosten Feyn

 

[Crosten Feyn]

Not a word had been needed between them. Each had taken action on their own in the face of the threat. Crosten made sure they could get away, while Shade ensured they stayed away. Now, there were little signs of the trouble that had pursued them earlier. The sudden quiet stillness of the ship stood in stark contrast to the chaos and noise that had just filled the cabin.

Crosten looked to Shade as she spoke, his stoic yet hospitable expression turning into a small smile of his own. "Well, thanks." he said. For some souls smuggling was merely more than a means to make a living; For Crosten, it was a way of life. By now, the thrill, risk and sights that came with said way of life had become aspects he couldn't easily part with. This ship was both his home, and the primary tool with which he plied his trade. To say he took pride in it would be an understatement.

A simple scan of her surroundings would spot numerous modifications, or signs of them. By now, the modifications were numerous and varied. Panels that were off-colour or off-textured lined the array of controls before the bridge seating, with unlabeled buttons frequently arrayed on them. Black cabling commonly lined the edge of the hallways, occasionally traveling straight up or down a wall they'd been secured against. While much was obvious to the eye, more remained much more covert. Hidden cargo space was plentiful on the ship - often tucked within walls, floors or near bulky operating equipment. Panels within walls often hid controls he'd rather not display in the open. What was useful to his line of work came commonly in conflict with law and regulation.

"This is the part where most hunters start to panic. They expect noise. Reaction. Mistakes. Let them waste their energy searching the dark."

She assured him.

"You got a good look at them on the ground. I take it they're not near established enough for this sorta tracking." Crosten replied, and the assurance did much. In his mind, the odds of their escape had shifted from likely to 'near certain'. The means to monitor them would be a costly investment, one almost certainly well beyond the Crimson Exchange's means to make. So long as the forces in pursuit had no lead on their location, it was unlikely that they'd find it. It wasn't total assurance; Crosten had been in the field too long to allow his guard to be let down. Yet, it was valued peace of mind.

"Comfort is irrelevant. Predictability is what keeps people alive." She let her eyes meet his fully now, steady and unflinching. "And you are predictable in the ways that matter."

"You as well. I was happy when I saw your name on the doc, you know. Whether jobs can go well or poorly, you sure work smoothly. " Crosten spoke, looking back at her with reverent approval. Good partners were hard to find, and the smuggler sure didn't discount any he'd the pleasure of working with.

"And I reckon you're right. We're well past escape velocity; won't need to power back up until we can hit hyperspace." While he was real glad things hadn't gone sideways, Shade was the ideal sort of person to have around if they had. She didn't give in to panic, wasn't prone to anything brash or chaotic. Even if comms were broken, the was little doubt that she'd seek the best solution to a situation on her own.

"Make yourself as comfortable as you'd like. Y'know this ship is essentially my home, so make yourself at home too." He replied with a soft, warm chuckle, quiet beneath his breath.

"To another successful job." Crosten added with a nod of his head and a continued small smile.

Shade

 

[Shade]

Shade did not move at first.

She stood in the center of the narrow corridor, the hum of cooling engines settling around her like distant thunder, the last traces of adrenaline dissolving into something quieter, steadier. The sudden peace aboard the ship felt almost hollow for most operatives—too empty, too abrupt after the heat of a chase. But she took to stillness the way others clung to breath.

Silence was her element.

Her gaze drifted over the interior with the same deliberate sweep she would apply to a weapons cache or an enemy compound. She noted the mismatched panels, the hand-wired cabling, the hidden seams that hinted at concealed compartments. A ship held the same truth its owner did—no matter how carefully one tried to mask it.

Crosten's home was built on risk, sharpened by necessity, and held together by someone who treated danger like familiar company. Shade understood that better than most.

When he spoke, she shifted her attention back to him, expression cool but not dismissive. There was a faint softening at the corner of her eyes—her version of a smile offered only to those who had earned it. "Panic wastes oxygen," she remarked, her voice low and composed. "And our hunters never learned the value of patience."

She stepped beside him then, close enough to see the flicker of pride in the way he looked at his ship, the subtle way his shoulders dropped now that escape was no longer theory but fact.

His assessment of their pursuers drew a faint incline of her head. "No. They are loud. Sloppy. Eager to prove themselves." A brief pause. "The sort who assume fear creates intelligence. It never does."

When he admitted he'd been glad to see her name on the assignment sheet, something in her posture eased—a shift so slight only someone trained to read micro-expressions would notice. But Crosten had seen her under fire. He would recognize it.

Shade's gaze held his steadily. "You work with discipline," she said simply. "Most smugglers mistake improvisation for skill. You do not." It was as close to praise as a Chiss assassin ever gave aloud.

His offer to make herself at home drew a quiet exhale from her—a sound just shy of amusement. "Comfort is a luxury," she replied, tilting her head slightly as she studied him. "But I appreciate the intent."

She glanced toward the viewport, where stars stretched like silver burn-marks across the void. "We did well today." Her eyes returned to him, steady as ever but carrying a subtle resonance—respect, sharp and measured. "And your home kept us alive. That is not something I take lightly."

She stepped past him then, intending to survey the rest of the ship—not out of distrust, but habit, evaluation, curiosity.

Before she moved fully out of reach, she added over her shoulder, her tone quiet and certain: "To another successful job." Not a toast. A promise.

Crosten Feyn

 

[Crosten Feyn]

Crosten gave a nod. It was a truth commonly exploited by the smuggler in prior endeavours. Panic is a factor that prompts mistakes, putting a premium on haste over effectiveness in the minds of many. Causing or exploiting a 'situation' had been common cover for both escape and infiltration. Well trained forces don't tend to give into panic. If they hadn't been trained even that far, it was pretty doubtful that they'd been trained on search and pursuit. If he was mistaken, he was prepared. That Shade agreed meant the odds ought to be slim. If they were a force to be reckoned with, she'd have said so.

"No. They are loud. Sloppy. Eager to prove themselves." A brief pause. "The sort who assume fear creates intelligence. It never does."

"Too many of that type." he remarked in response, with a shake of his head. He was too familiar with the type. At best, they were useful pawns for the truly powerful syndicates. At worst, nuisances who get dealt with by the very same groups. Barking didn't mean a kriffing thing when the dog was small.

"Always gonna be that sort. Folks who try and get into the game without understanding it." He added, with a small scoff.

"Most smugglers mistake improvisation for skill. You do not." Spoke Shade, which was met by a soft grin and chuckle from Crosten. "Improvisation always comes after things have gone sideways. Better not to get to that point." He nodded, accepting the kind words without addressing them as a compliment directly, though it didn't go unnoticed. Reckless pilots don't get so far. Improvisation was bound to fail at some point. Some believed that a stupid plan that yielded results wasn't truly stupid in the first place. By now, he'd seen that a stupid plan that works is likely just that — a lucky shot that happened to work out.

"A luxury, yeah?" He replied. Perhaps it had been the term he used. The Chiss were a bit different. For him, comfort was taken whenever he could get it. Tense moments were common, and any reasonable opportunity was a good one. 'Course, that was his way, not hers, and there was little reason to expand on it. By her posture, she already had, in her own way. It was about as strong of a statement he could expect from the Chiss woman.

"And I'll say; If I didn't know beforehand, I'd have no clue anything had even gone down. You sure made it outta that place clean. To a successful job." He replied with mirth. Her words too stuck him with pride. He put an awful lot into his ship, and the smuggler was happy to see it had served well.

Working with the right partner always made things go smooth.

Shade

 

[Shade]

Shade listened without interrupting, her attention fixed not on Crosten's face but on the viewport beyond him. The ship cruised through high-altitude air, cloud layers stretched out beneath them in slow, rolling formations, broken occasionally by faint shafts of light where the atmosphere thinned. The turbulence was minimal, the engines steady, controlled flight, not escape. Exactly where they needed to be.

She had already replayed the engagement in her mind, the sequence unfolding with quiet inevitability—timing, angles, response lag. The conclusion remained unchanged. There had been danger, yes, but not discipline. Not the kind that endured once pressure was applied and mistakes began to stack.

When she spoke, her voice was calm and deliberate, each word chosen for accuracy rather than emphasis. "People like that confuse noise with presence," she said quietly. "They assume volume substitutes for awareness. It does not."

Her gaze shifted back to him then, crimson eyes steady, analytical but not unkind. There was no arrogance in her agreement—only confirmation. "They were reacting, not thinking," she continued. "Once they committed to that, the outcome was already decided."

At his remark about her exit, she inclined her head a fraction. Not quite a nod. Not quite acknowledgment. For Shade, it was both. "Clean extractions are rarely noticed," she replied. "That is the point."

A brief pause followed—measured, intentional—before she added something that carried more weight than praise ever would. "Your preparation mattered," she said. "Routes. Timing. Silence." She didn't frame it as gratitude. She didn't soften it into flattery. She stated it as fact, the way she treated anything that had proven reliable under pressure.

"Working with someone who plans for success instead of reacting to failure reduces variables."

Her posture remained composed, but there was a subtle ease there now—the kind that surfaced only when a mission had concluded exactly as intended, even if the airspace around them was still contested.

"That is not common." In her world, it was a genuine compliment—and one she did not give lightly.

Crosten Feyn