Private Descent | RIS

[Cassian Abrantes]

Coruscant Underworld
Shade ​

The undercity of Coruscant was a maze of steel and shadow each level older, rusted, and meaner than the one above it. The hum of speeders and neon chatter from the upper tiers had long faded into the background, leaving only the faint pulse of leaking power conduits and the drip of stagnant water echoing from unseen pipes. Cassian Abrantes crouched at the edge of the ramp, visor flicking through spectral filters as he studied the warehouse below. The building's durasteel plating was scorched in places, a few windows cracked but still opaque. Power signatures flickered low, intermittent like a heartbeat struggling to stay alive.

"Intel said she went dark twelve hours ago." Cassian murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "No outgoing transmissions. No extraction signal. Just static."

"She's hiding, alive, or dead." Cassian added quietly. He exhaled, steadying himself.

He unfolded a small holo-map, its blue light cutting through the gloom. The warehouse's internal layout was incomplete, portions scrambled or missing, seemed pretty standard procedure for anyone trying to mask a front operation. The faint outline of loading bays and cargo lifts appeared, with a central corridor leading to an unmarked chamber. They had so much ground to cover in just a short amount of time.

For a brief moment, silence stretched between them, carrying the weight of a dozen unspoken memories, missions gone wrong, close calls survived, and the quiet trust that had been earned the hard way. A distant rumble shook the ramp, and a burst of light from a passing transport briefly illuminated the undercity. Cassian adjusted his rifle, motioned toward the warehouse, and together they slipped from cover, descending into the dark belly of Coruscant's forgotten world where the line between ally and enemy blurred, and trust was the only light that burned strongly between them.

"Let's get moving, partner."

 

[Shade]

Shade's boots met the metal grate without a sound. The undercity air hung thick with rust and ozone, the kind of stillness that hummed before violence. Her visor dimmed as her eyes adjusted—crimson irises catching the faint light, a soft glow that cut through the dark.

"Power grid's unstable," she murmured, voice low, measured. "Could mask a dozen signals—or one deliberate trail. Depends on who set it."

She studied the warehouse facade, tracing the subtle hum of current where the energy field rippled unevenly. "There," she said after a breath, nodding toward a section of wall half-hidden in shadow. "That panel's been accessed. Clean work, but not invisible. They wanted someone skilled enough to notice."

Shade moved first, slipping from cover, her form dissolving into the shadows below. The Force brushed lightly through her awareness, instinctive and silent—reaching, feeling, measuring the pulse of the place.

"Intel wasn't wrong about the silence," she added, quieter now. "But I don't think it's an accident. Someone's still in there. Waiting."

She glanced back over her shoulder, then, meeting Cassian's gaze—the undercity light caught in her eyes, a faint ember-soft reflection that steadied rather than chilled.

"Stay close," she said, a faint undercurrent softening her tone. "But don't mirror me. If they're tracking motion, two rhythms will read as one. That's harder to follow."

Her hand brushed the railing as she turned toward the descent, the motion fluid, deliberate.

"We'll find her," she said, quiet conviction threading through the calm. "And if she's still breathing, we'll bring her out."

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade
​

"I'm with you." Cassian responded easily as she spoke.

Cassian moved with the patient economy of a man who'd spent more nights planning than sleeping. He slid down the ramp beside Shade, boots whispering over the metal, visor sweeping a grid of weak signatures, small, careful blips that suggested people but not full power draws.

The warehouse yawned below them like a sleeping maw: stacked containers, a crooked gantry, and the hollow echo of something that had been used as a staging ground and then abandoned in a hurry.

"Watch the light." Cassian murmured, more to himself than to Shade.

"They'd cut power to slow drones, not us. Whoever did this wanted control of what could see and what couldn't." He crouched by the accessed panel Shade had noted, fingertips ghosting over the seam where the access lock had been eased open. Clean work slicer marks feathered along the casing. Whoever had been here knew how to leave almost nothing behind.

They moved inward on opposite flanks, Shade phasing into shadow while Cassian hugged the metal, counting cadence and distance like a breathing exercise. Crates bore scuffs that suggested a hurried loading some toppled, others shoved into corners. A thin smear of something dark dried, crusted streaked a crate's edge. Not enough to be certain, but his jaw tightened. "Trail." he said softly. "Not fresh. But recent enough."

 

[Shade]

Shade's boots made no sound as she shifted closer to the shadows along the wall, eyes flicking from the smear to the surrounding crates. Her hands hovered near her weapons, but she didn't draw, letting the Force anchor her awareness instead. The faintest pulse in the air—residual energy, not quite alive, not quite dead—traced the edges of the containers.

"Not fresh. But the trail is deliberate. Whoever moved this didn't want anyone stumbling across it too soon."

Her gaze flicked to Cassian briefly, a fraction of acknowledgment, before returning to the room. The air smelled faintly of burnt oil and ozone, but beneath it was something else, almost metallic. She let her senses extend, sliding over the surfaces like liquid shadow, noting what his visor couldn't yet pick up.

"Stay close. This isn't a trap yet…but I'll know if it becomes one before it breathes a warning."

A slight shift in her posture—subtle, deliberate—allowed him a hint of proximity without inviting anything more. Controlled. Tactical. Always Shade. But the space between them thrummed with quiet awareness, every heartbeat and shadow threaded with unspoken recognition.

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade ​

Cassian moved in tandem, his every motion measured, an echo that stayed just out of sync with hers, respecting her rhythm, but close enough that their awareness overlapped. The tension between them wasn't fear; it was calibration. Two veterans breathing through the same silence, each knowing the other's next move without words.

He crouched near a half-toppled crate, fingertips brushing the floor where the smear began. "You're right." he murmured, voice pitched low. "No signs of struggle no blaster scoring, no scattered casing. Someone covered their tracks."

Shade's presence sharpened beside him, a pulse of readiness that he could feel more than see.

Cassian eased forward, his breath steady behind the visor. Shade's movements were silent, too silent, and that alone told him how serious she was. He scanned the crates again, the faint glint of coolant reflecting off his gauntlet. The air felt heavier now, that strange metallic tang cutting through the oil and dust.

He gestured toward the upper walkway where a faint glow was now visible a terminal flickering to life. "That console might tell us who was in here. Or at least who wanted us to find it."

 

[Shade]

Shade ghosted forward without a sound, the faint terminal light catching briefly along the edge of her cheekbone before she slipped back into shadow. The air around her seemed to still—her senses stretching, listening to corners even silence tried to hide in.

Her eyes tracked the walkway, then the ground beneath their boots, mapping exits, pressure points, and the quiet rhythm of danger yet to be spoken. She didn't look at Cassian when she spoke. She didn't need to.

"If someone wanted us to see that," she murmured, tone low and razor-controlled, "they either think we will take the bait…or they are very sure we do not matter."

A quiet shift as her hand brushed the hilt at her thigh, not a draw, just a promise.

"Stay on my flank," she added, softer, but there was a weight beneath it, not command, not quite worry, but something threading the space between them with deliberate care.

She stepped forward first, into the thin spill of light, every muscle held in coiled precision.

"Let us see which mistake they made."

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade ​

Cassian's breath steadied to the rhythm of his heartbeat, each pulse syncing with the faint whir of his visor's audio feed. He watched Shade move a flicker of motion made flesh, grace forged from danger and memory. For a moment, she was all he could hear. The whisper of her steps. The soft rustle of fabric against metal. The living calm before the storm.

Then the storm arrived.

A blur dropped from the rafters above, fast, heavy, silent until the very last second. Cassian saw the shift of air, the subtle disruption of dust in the lamplight, and his instincts fired before his thoughts did.

"Shade!"

The attacker was trained, his momentum crashing through the air like a shockwave. Cassian was already moving, boots pounding once against the metal grate before he threw himself between them. The blade scraped off his armored forearm, sparks hissing as he twisted, his other hand slamming into the attacker's wrist.

The man grunted, a muffled curse tearing through his breath filter. Cassian pivoted with the motion, letting the man's force carry forward, then reversed it, driving his elbow into the man's chestplate. The sound was sharp, the impact brutal.

The attacker staggered back, knife spinning from his hand. Cassian caught it mid-fall and drove the hilt into the man's jaw. The crunch was final. The body crumpled, hitting the metal floor with a hollow clang before Cassian kicked the weapon out of reach and leveled his blaster at the man's temple.

"Not local muscle." Cassian muttered, tone clipped as he studied the figure's armor, black, matte, unmarked except for faint scarring where insignias had been scraped clean. "Highly trained, I'd say."

Shade was already moving to his flank again, her eyes sharp, posture ready. He could feel the thrum of the Force still lingering around her, its tension matching his pulse.

"You good?" he asked, his voice low but edged with something unspoken concern he didn't have time to name.

 

[Shade]

Shade angled her body toward the upper beams, hand hovering above her knives at her belt—ready, deliberate. A hint of relief softened the rigid set of her shoulders. "I'm good. This isn't their first mistake," she murmured, voice low and razor-controlled, "and we are not theirs to catch."

Her gaze met Cassian's briefly—confirmation and connection in a single breath—before sliding past him, fingers brushing the hilts of her knives like extensions of the Force. "If subtlety was the goal, they should have trusted shadows," she said, sensing faint disturbances in the air.

She nudged the fallen attacker's armor with her boot, expression sharpening. Like hers, it was unmarked. "This is a message. And I do not like the implication."

Positioning herself slightly ahead—shielding, not blocking—every line of her body signaled her next move."We push forward. Whoever else is here…they already know we are."

Her eyes swept the office: flickering holo‑panels, overturned chairs, faint scent of burnt circuits. Fingers grazed her knives' hilts, checking weight and balance. "Small space. Limited exits. Advantage is shared. Stay close. One misstep and this office becomes a trap," she murmured, voice low, precise.

Shade slid forward into the thin light, muscles coiled, senses stretching. "If someone wanted us to see that," she said, "they either think we will take the bait…or they are very sure we do not matter."

A shadow flickered, fast, targeting Cassian from behind. "Behind you!" she called, launching a throwing knife with a single fluid motion. The blade struck true, spinning the attacker away. "No room for hesitation. One mistake, and we pay. Keep moving," she murmured, sliding beside him, eyes scanning every flicker of shadow.

"Eyes on the corners. Every sound counts. We clear this room, then descend. Keep steady," she whispered, calm and lethal, awareness threading through the confined space.

"You good?" Repeting it back to him was rather satisfying in a way she'd not felt for a long time.

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade ​

Cassian exhaled through his nose, a quiet breath that steadied his pulse and bled into the rhythm of movement. He turned in time to see the attacker collapse, Shade's blade jutting from the joint of armor just beneath the shoulder plate a perfect, silent strike.

"Better now." he murmured, stepping in close as the downed hostile slumped to the floor. With one fluid motion, Cassian yanked the knife free and set it back into her waiting hand, grip-first. The gesture carried a familiarity forged through their months of shared danger, ever since their first fateful meeting that had changed both of their lives, it was a reflexive wordless trust.

His visor swept the room, lenses adjusting to low light. Every overturned chair, every crackle from a dying console painted a pattern he'd seen before controlled chaos, staged to look desperate. He crouched briefly, fingers tracing a faint burn mark across the floor plating.

Cassian rose, his hand brushing the side of his rifle. He glanced toward her, catching the faint glint of her crimson eyes beneath the flickering lights. The corner of his mouth curved lightly into a smile. "And you're enjoying giving me the orders, aren't you?" Even amongst the mission, he couldn't help but give her a teasing smirk. He angled toward the doorway she'd marked, sweeping his rifle in a slow arc. "All right. Corners first, then the stairwell." His tone hardened, returning to that quiet professionalism that had kept them both alive too many times to count.

The third beat was silent; they moved together, clearing the corners in perfect synchronization.

The deeper hall was tighter, the air heavier. Faint red light pulsed from below, rhythmic like a beacon, or a heartbeat. Cassian adjusted his grip, rifle close to his chest. "We're descending into the center of the grid." he said. "If the signal's real, it's under that floor."

He glanced sidelong at her again, the composure between them was uncanny, steady as the hum in the walls. "Whatever's waiting down there it's expecting both of us."

A pause, then quieter, more personal:

"And that's their next mistake."

He started down the stairwell, leading this time, the darkness swallowing them both as the red light pulsed steadily below, like a warning, or a welcome.

 

[Shade]

"Then let's move," she murmured, sliding alongside him as they descended the narrow stairwell. "Keep your senses sharp. I'll cover our flanks. You focus on the path ahead."

Her fingers brushed the hilts of her knives reflexively, the familiar weight grounding her. "We've done this before," she added softly, almost to herself, the words carrying a quiet reassurance for him. "Different rooms, different danger, same rhythm. Follow it, and we'll walk out together."

A fleeting glance upward—brief, unspoken—acknowledged the trust threading between them, then her focus drifted back to the pulsing red light below. Every shadow, every whisper of air, every footfall mattered. She exhaled slowly, letting the Force flow through her awareness, tracing danger before it could speak.

"Step steady," she whispered, voice low, precise. "One misstep, and it's not just us. But I'll be ready. And so will you."

"Lead then," she murmured, sliding closer to match his stride. "I've spent longer in shadows than you, but you…You see the battlefield differently. I'll follow your path. You take the lead."

Her fingers rested lightly on her knives, alert but unflinching. "Corners, stairwell, then the center," she added, voice even and controlled, the cadence of danger and discipline threading through each word. "We move as one, and we watch for the mistakes they left behind."

Her gaze flicked to him again, just briefly, a silent acknowledgment of trust and something unspoken that lingered between them—professional coordination first, yet the edge of connection threading through the rhythm of their movement. Then her focus returned to the pulsing red light below, letting the Force ripple outward, each shadow a question, each step measured like a heartbeat.

"Stay steady," she whispered under her breath, more to herself than him. "I'll cover our flanks. Keep your path clear. We watch each other. Always."

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade ​

Cassian nodded once, the motion slow, deliberate confirmation and gratitude all folded into one. Her words grounded him, in that quiet way Shade always managed to: not through sentiment, but through the rhythm of precision, the discipline of shared survival.

"Always." he echoed softly, his voice low enough to barely rise above the hum of the grid.

He adjusted his rifle and took the lead down the narrow stairwell. The metal underfoot creaked faintly, each step answered by a soft ping of settling dust and the distant whine of electrical current. The red light below pulsed brighter with every level they descended, painting the corridor walls in arterial glow. Behind him, Shade's footsteps were soundless, her presence a constant, fluid motion threading seamlessly through shadow. He didn't need to look to know where she was, he could feel it, the subtle shift in air, the way her awareness filled the space like smoke curling through light.

At the base of the stairwell, the corridor opened into a wider chamber half warehouse, half command hub. Console banks flickered with dying power, walls lined with durasteel containers. The floor was slick in places, coolant or worse, catching the red glow and turning it into a reflection of blood.

Cassian halted, raising a closed fist, a silent signal to stop.

He scanned the room. "Motion." he said softly. "Far side. Two signatures, one faint, one moving."

"You take the upper angle. I'll take the floor."

Cassian sweeping left, rifle leveled. His movements were ghost-silent despite the armor, his pulse steady now, not from calm, but focus. The mission narrowed to its essence: move, clear, protect.

He advanced between the consoles, eyes darting to the faint outline of a figure slumped against the far wall. The distress beacon sat beside them, still flashing its hollow red pulse. The uniform matched, and facial recognition from hud overlay confirmed.

The agent.

"Shade." Cassian called quietly, not turning his head. "I've got her."

 

[Shade]

"On your right," Shade's voice slipped through the dim like a blade drawn in silence, already repositioning to his flank. Her steps barely disturbed the air as she dropped from the stairwell's final landing, landing in a ready crouch: low center of gravity, knives reversed in her hands, eyes scanning every shadow.

She swept past Cassian in a silent glide, taking the angle he'd called—ascending a stack of toppled crates with predatory ease to gain elevation.

The agent slumped against the far wall, twitched—not a threat, a tremor of someone fighting consciousness. Her breath was shallow. No blood spill. Good. Alive was useful.

"She is breathing," Shade confirmed, tone steady. "Heavily sedated. Nerve suppressant, maybe aerosol." Her gaze flicked to the consoles, to the ventilation lining above—the contamination vector was easy to guess.

She scanned deeper into the chamber, the Force brushing ahead of her like a warning line.

"This was meant to lure us in," she said quietly. "She triggered the distress beacon herself. Or someone wanted it to look that way."

A soft shift of pressure. A whisper of movement behind the crates opposite her. Shade didn't hesitate—one knife left her hand in a flash of silver, its flight silent as breath. The impact came a heartbeat later: a choked gasp, a body folding to the floor behind cover.

She drew a blade to replace it until they could collect it, and with her breath controlled, shoulders squared, every part of her ready for the next shadow.

"We are not alone," she murmured, eyes staying sharp on the angles Cassian couldn't see. "Secure her. I will handle the rest."

A beat. A glance down to him—brief, deliberate. Almost warm.

"You lead. I counter."

It wasn't just strategy. It was trust—sharpened to survival. Bordering on something Shade was afraid to put a word to. Refusing to let her past haunt her while on a mission, she shook away the memory of her and Varin doing something exactly this.

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade ​

Cassian moved the moment Shade's knife struck home. The sound a muffled gasp, the heavy thud of a body hitting durasteel snapped the world into focus.

"Copy that." he murmured, stepping into the open. His boots crunched over glass and spent casing fragments. He dropped to a knee beside the downed agent, keeping his rifle angled toward the dark while his free hand checked for vitals. Pulse: faint but steady. Her skin was clammy, her pupils unresponsive.

Cassian exhaled slowly, forcing his thoughts into the familiar rhythm of procedure. "Understood. I'll secure her, we'll need to move before they close the exits."

Movement flickered at the edge of his vision a subtle shift behind the coolant pipes. Cassian swung his blaster up, fired once, clean and efficient. The bolt caught the second attacker square in the chest, throwing him back into the shadows. Silence fell, broken only by the faint hum of the generator beneath the floor.

"Clear." he said, tone clipped but steady. "For now."

He holstered his weapon and lifted the agent carefully against his shoulder, testing her weight. She was lighter than she should've been. "We're not done here." he continued, scanning the flickering consoles. "Whoever set this up wanted her alive long enough to draw us in. But why leave the bodyguards behind? Sloppy or deliberate can't tell yet."

 

[Shade]

Her eyes swept the chamber: overturned consoles, crates stacked like barricades, vents along the far wall. Every angle noted, every potential threat measured.

"Do not strain her. We move carefully, but without pause. Every second counts. The danger is still here, even if silent."

"This was deliberate," she murmured, voice low, razor-controlled. "They wanted the agent alive, exposed just enough to bait us. Whoever planned this knows our patterns, our timing—but they miscalculated. We are faster. Sharper. Smarter."

Shade crouched slightly, letting the Force ripple outward to sense subtle movements in the air: the faintest tremor of energy, the pulse of circuitry, the hiss of coolant beneath the floor.

The second attacker fell to Cassian's shot. Shade exhaled, sliding the knife from the first attacker, then slipping it back into its sheath with a fluid motion, grip secure. Her movements echoed his, a mirrored rhythm that went unnoticed by any outside observer—boots brushing the metal at the same cadence, shoulders shifting in sync, tiny adjustments in posture threading them together in silent coordination.

Her crimson eyes scanned the agent as Cassian lifted her, noting the shallow but steady pulse and clammy skin.

"She's alive," Shade observed softly. "Not badly wounded, but shaken. Keep the movement smooth and predictable. Don't let her weight pull us off rhythm."

"I'll cover the exits, watch the corners," she said, sliding into a protective stance. "You focus on the path forward. We move as one. One misstep, one hesitation, and we both pay."

Each step they took became a quiet choreography: her footfall a whisper behind his, his shift in balance mirrored in her own. A fleeting glance revealed the subtle alignment, an unspoken trust reinforced by timing alone.

"Shall we?" she murmured, soft, deliberate, more command than question. "We leave nothing behind, nothing unguarded. Eyes, ears, reflexes—all in harmony. Move steadily. Move quietly. And we walk out together."

Her gaze lingered just long enough on him for the silent cadence of coordination to register—a breath caught in sync, a shoulder tilting in match—and then she returned fully to the corridors ahead. The red glow of the grid pulsed beneath them, each beat echoing the rhythm of their steps, their discipline, and the quiet intensity that made her Shade.

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade ​

Cassian fell into rhythm without thinking. Years of operations, of wordless coordination and silent communication, had conditioned him to read her not through speech but through movement the subtle shift of her weight, the minute tightening of her stance before a corner, the ghost of breath before she spoke.

He advanced through the narrow corridor, eyes sweeping each junction as the grid light pulsed beneath their boots. Her presence was both shield and threat: a living balance of precision and danger.

"They're running dampeners." he said quietly as he checked his wrist scanner. "Can't get a clear life signature within thirty meters."

He held her as best as he could, with his blaster pistol drawn.

"Left corridor narrows. No visibility beyond ten meters." he noted.

Cassian smiled there was something reassuring in her certainty, the way she carried danger as easily as breath. The mission was a trap, the agent possibly compromised, but Shade's control cut through the uncertainty like a blade through fog.

They pushed up the stairs and he could feel the faint hum of energy through the floor the grid cycling just under overload, the building's veins alive and twitching. He exhaled slowly, centering himself.

"We are almost there, hold on."

 

[Shade]

Shade's eyes scanned the narrow corridor ahead, noting the flicker of the grid beneath their boots, the dampened life readings, the faint hiss of overworked circuitry. She moved with him, silent, deliberate, every step measured against the pulse of danger threading the building's veins. She could feel the tension in the air—the precarious balance between threat and survival—and the subtle warmth of Cassian near her added an imperceptible pull to her rhythm, mingling with the weight of the agent in his arms.

"Dampeners, narrowed corridors, energy surges underfoot…every sign points to the same thing. They want us exposed, testing reactions, forcing decisions. But we adapt. We move as one. One hesitation, one misstep, and the consequences are ours—not theirs."

Her gaze flicked briefly to the agent, noting the faint pulse and the subtle tremor in her grip. Then she returned her attention to Cassian, the faintest curve in her lips betraying more than trust—something careful, quiet, threaded through their shared focus. She slid her knife smoothly out of its sheath, fingers gripping the hilt with a practiced certainty.

"We are almost at the center of this…chaos. And yet, even here, even now, I need to ask…When you say 'we are almost there,' is that to reassure me, or her?"

The words hung in the corridor like a soft current, carrying both her professional precision and the subtle pull of something unspoken. This unnamed tension lingered between them even amid danger.

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade ​

Cassian's steps slowed just enough to let her voice settle in the charged air between them.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he swept the corridor ahead, eyes tracing the heat signatures pulsing faintly beneath the flooring, the rhythm of the building's heartbeat matching his own. Every sign points to exposure, she'd said. She was right. The grid wasn't just flickering, it was reacting. To them.

Finally, he spoke, voice low, grounded. "Both."

The admission wasn't tactical, but it was true. "If she's still in there, somewhere under whatever they pumped into her, she needs to hear that. And you...." he glanced her way, the faint red light carving her features into shifting lines of shadow and resolve, "You never need reassurance. But you deserve the reminder that we finish this together. I can't, and I'm not going to lose you, do you understand?."

He shifted the agent's weight carefully, the motion controlled, efficient.

A sharp crack echoed from somewhere deeper in the passage, the sound of metal straining, cables snapping. Cassian's pistol was up before the echo faded. His voice dropped to a whisper. "They're herding us toward the central chamber. They'll bottleneck the exit once we breach."

Shade's knives gleamed faintly, her focus razor-sharp again. Cassian felt her steady beside him presence precise, fearless. The unspoken current between them hadn't vanished; it had just folded itself into the rhythm of survival.

He glanced over, just once, meeting her crimson gaze through the half-light. "So let's give them what they want." he murmured. "Two targets moving as one. Harder to catch. Harder to kill."

"Let's get out of here, partner."

 

[Shade]

Shade tightened the grip on her knives for a heartbeat, letting the familiar weight ground her, each finger curling around the hilt like an extension of her own awareness. She met his gaze, the red glow carving the planes of her face into something harder, sharper—but beneath it, something unspoken settled in her chest. A quiet acknowledgment that he had never once made her feel expendable, even when danger pressed close enough to taste.

"Both," she murmured, voice low and even, threading calm authority through the charged air. "For her—and for me. We finish it, together."

The words were simple, tactical on the surface, but beneath them, her mind traced the rhythm of their times together: missions flown without communication, silent coordination, trust built out of necessity and danger. It was the kind of connection that didn't need declarations, that thrived in shared awareness, yet she felt it now, sharper, pulling quietly at the edges of her control.

Her eyes flicked briefly to the agent in Cassian's arms. Alive. Shaken. Vulnerable. But she felt no jealousy, no irritation at the presence of another—they were a team. The concern was professional, calibrated, like every decision she had ever made in the field. Protecting her wasn't about him; it was about the mission, about keeping the flow of control unbroken. The current between her and Cassian was separate, a subtle hum that existed alongside the operation without interfering with it.

"Keep to the plan. Corners first, then the stairwell. Move as one—no heroics."

She noted the way he adjusted the agent's weight, the careful, controlled motion that spoke of his experience. It wasn't flashy, not dramatic, but perfectly effective. And there it was again—the silent communication, the rhythm of him matching hers, something that had become second nature after months of trusting their lives in tandem.

"And Cassian…thank you," she said softly, letting the words linger just long enough to carry weight without losing the edge of professionalism. "For the timing, for the trust, for—" Her thoughts trailed silently; she hesitated to say aloud what her presence beside him meant, not yet. But in the quiet undercurrent of the mission, she felt it: respect, reliance, and something that refused to be named yet, simmering just below the surface.

The corridor ahead pulsed faintly under the grid's red glow, each footstep a beat in the rhythm they shared. She let her senses extend outward, scanning every shadow, every hiss of displaced air, every subtle tremor in the floor. Every threat she could detect, she would neutralize before it reached him. Every flicker of danger she could read, she would guide them through.

And still, in the pauses between movement and thought, she allowed herself the smallest acknowledgment of him—not just as partner in danger, but as the one who could step into the same silence and match it perfectly, who could draw her into the rhythm without speaking, who made the world narrow to the space they shared and the moment they were in.

"We move," she whispered, knives ready, senses sharp. "Together. No mistakes."

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade ​

He stared at Shade for a long time, or what seemed like a long time, the longstanding silent trust they had with each other. It was silent and unsaid, aside from words shared on certain occasions. He meant every word of them, and when she thanked him, he felt something stir in his chest that he couldn't quite name. He wasn't sure what it was, but it made him feel good.

He then moved with the economy of a man who had rehearsed this choreography until muscle memory swallowed hesitation. Corners were cleared with a practiced sweep. While Shade covered the blind angles with a predator's patience. Cassian made was mirrored by a faint shift from Shade; each time her hand brushed a hilt or a rail, it steadied him.

They reached the stairwell with no more than a whisper of contact. Cassian tested each step before committing his weight, listening for the metallic whisper that might betray a trap beneath. When the landing opened onto the lower service tunnel, the air changed, cooler, threaded with the oily tang of old coolant and something acrid, like ozone after a bolt.

He angled his shoulder, letting her shoulder brush his for a fraction of a beat, an unspoken acknowledgment that they were still in step. He adjusted Vale on his arm. The agent's breathing was ragged but alive; her fingers twitched around the edge of consciousness. Cassian felt the weight of responsibility in that small, uncertain bundle, an isolation of duty that anchored him more than the armor on his chest.

The passage suddenly erupted, a pop of distance plating. Suppressed fire flew outward. Two silhouettes dropped from up faces covered and armored. Cassian's pistol came up just as they dropped down, firing a quick succession of shots their way taking them out.

The reached the service elevator and the machined groaned under all of their combined weight, until the elevator climbed and the doors opened up into the air of the undercity. But they were not out of the woods yet, they had to make it to their ship and get out of here. And no doubt they would be chased.

 

[Shade]

Shade moved the instant the gunfire ceased, boot catching the dropped mercenary's wrist before the body had entirely stilled. Her knives disappeared into their sheaths with a clean metallic whisper—each motion practiced calm layered over sharp, coiled readiness.

The elevator's slow ascent rattled through her bones. Too slow. Too exposed. Every second spent waiting was a second given to the enemy.

As the doors hissed open to the undercity air—heavy, electric, humming with hidden circuitry—she stepped out first, scanning angles and escape vectors even as her voice remained low, composed.

"Three minutes before they regroup," she murmured, eyes narrowing on the dark corridors that spider-webbed outward from the platform. "They will hunt the stairs first…then the vents. We keep moving."

Cassian adjusted his grip on Vale. Shade's gaze tracked the movement—not the unconscious agent, but him. The subtle shift in his shoulders. The silent strain he refused to acknowledge.

He had said he wouldn't lose her. She wouldn't allow the reverse either.

Shade stepped closer, fingers brushing his forearm—not hesitation, not comfort, but a silent recalibration of their shared center of gravity.

"Your shot was clean," she said quietly, a rare acknowledgment wrapped in the steel of her tone. "You tracked both before they landed. Efficient." It wasn't praise. It was trust spoken aloud.

The echo of distant boots thundered up the tunnels—close, coordinated. Her knives slipped free again, the twin blades catching the undercity glow like sharp promises.

"They will expect panic," she continued, shoulders rolling into a ready stance. "We give them precision."

Her eyes met his—crimson to steady green—longer than field protocol recommended. Something flickered there, something unspoken but undeniably real… and she allowed the smallest breath of it to exist between them before the moment passed.

She nodded forward, the faintest smirk ghosting her lips.

"Lead the way, partner."

Cassian Abrantes