Private Finding Malcoma

[Efret Farr]

Lake Country, Naboo
Efret's villa upon Darjeeli Hill​

<Find Mal. Trust her.>

Efret could still see Judah's signs in her mind, small and shaky but still understandable. What wasn't clear was just who this Mal was.

Someone Judah cared for at the very least, and a woman too, but neither characteristic meaningfully limited the possibilities.

The reflection of the gently crackling fire slid from Efret's eyes as she turned to look at what was cradled in her hands: her communicator. Heft she didn't remember it having sunk it into one cupped palm as she traced its silhouette and ghosted her fingertips over its buttons.

<Just-do-it, Efret,> she thought in Sign with a sigh.

Before she could finally give in to hesitation, she switched on the unit. The green power indicator light blinked out a rapid sequence for the first time in two months, when she had turned it on relatively briefly and only for the purpose of staying in contact with one Thelma Goth . An influx of text and video messages from concerned fellow Jedi had arrived at that point. It broke Efret's heart not to respond to them then, and still now, but she knew it was necessary not to—and to avoid even thinking about them insomuch as she could. Still, she hadn’t been able to help accidentally seeing a few senders' names, but didn't know if Justice was among the full list.

He very well could have been. They had worked together on a few projects when Efret had been Chief Curator. It would be only natural if he had reached out. There were two reasons for one to be concerned about her: the mysterious reason she had resigned, and the Galactic Alliance's fate.

She didn't go through her backlog to check. Instead, she just typed and sent him a message titled 'Take care'.

You need not keep this message nor its contents from your wife, but please don't confide in any other. I must speak with you alone. Meet me in the abandoned palace north of Theed tomorrow at noon.​

Justice would know that the communication came from Efret, or someone who had her comm, on the basis of the message coming from her old frequency. There didn't seem to be any deception to it, or suggestion that its author was anyone but her, but text was unreliable when attempting to sense such things.

He would just have to go and see, but be prepared for anything, or anyone.

A ransom demand.

An invasion attempt.

A friend with a good deal of explaining to do.

---

Tomorrow didn't come soon enough but, when it did, the sun slowly unfurled its rays over an unseasonably calm sea. The abandoned castle that Efret—or whoever pretending to be her—had chosen as their meeting place rose up from the golden beach sand, casting a long shadow inland.

As Justice approached the main gate over a short, marble bridge, movement at a shattered window high in one of the towers might catch his attention. A bird of some kind emerged from the shadows inside and soared down in a sideways arc towards one of the decorative battlements. By the time it had landed, and tucked and wrapped its grand wingspan around its lithe body, Justice was close enough to identify it as an owl—a convor at that; Nirrah, if he remembered Efret's near-constant companion.

Her presence in the Force wove a bit differently than it had when he last saw her, but not nearly enough to be unrecognizable.

Regardless, it was now quite certain that Efret was indeed here. Where was the only question.

Nirrah hooted, the hollow, dove-like call carrying down on the gentle sea breeze. When Justice let himself past the closed gate, she swooped down after him, the tips of her talons just missing the grand door as it swung closed behind them both.

His path from there was cut first through the air as she led him to the Jedi master.

Efret stood in an office overlooking the sea from the third floor, but she wasn't watching the waves. She instead studied the paintings hanging on the wearing wall as best as she could without Nirrah’s visual assistance. They were works of the many artists who had made their homes here over the years. None of them had been viewed before by any other beings but the mice that scurried around whenever they were truly alone.

Most of the pictures were worn somehow, either the canvases or their frames or both: degrading fabric, fading colors, chipping gild.

When Justice stepped into the open threshold, Efret turned towards him.

Nirrah flew behind and settled on her right shoulder.

"Hello, Justice,” the elder archeologist greeted. Though her interpretation unit spoke for her as usual, a smile did not grace her face. Her purpose weighed too heavily to allow her even a moment of happiness to see a friend. “It’s been a long time. I'm sure you have many questions for me, but I need to ask something of you instead. Let me explain.”

Her pause was only as wide as a hair, as if the very news couldn't wait to be off her fingers like jolts of static electricity desperate to be experienced by another. "I've seen both a vision and an Echo of your uncle on Woostri. He's alive."

Had Justice felt that much on his own, or was she delivering him hope?

The revelation hung in the air in any case, tension not breaking when her borrowed voice spoke again.

“I first felt his pain in my dreams, then saw him. The Force led me to Woostri, and I saw him there too.”

Justice might have recalled that Master Farr was a gifted psychometric, using the sense often to deepen her understanding of artifacts.

She stepped closer, confident in her movements now that Nirrah had returned to her side. At this distance, he could see what had changed about Nirrah, at least physically. Purple flecks in her big, yellow-green eyes caught the sunlight filtering past the drawn curtains.

"He was taken by the Dread Queen,” Efret continued, “to Jutrand probably. He told me that, and to find a woman named Mal."

Her brow drew together in the way it did when preceding a question. Then that came too.

"Do you know who that is?"

Justice Lesan​

 

[Justice Lesan]

Wearing: xxx
Tag: Efret Farr

Just woke to the chime which notified him that he had a new message to read. There was no sense in not looking at it. There was not going to be a lot of sleep… there never was when the twins were refusing to. Hollis had Jace and he was holding Jade. They were adorable, but Justice was wondering if he would ever sleep again.

He read the message.

Twice.

“Hol… I just got a pretty cryptic message from my old boss. She wants me to meet her in Theed tomorrow. I am not sure I can say no…”

In fact, Just was already sending a reply back confirming he would be there. It gave him the excuse he needed to put Jade in his left arm. The real one. His uncle, Judah, had warned him how it would feel knowing one arm was not real. It made a difference when caring for his children. The technology was great. He could barely tell the difference, but the psychology of it, that was what Judah meant.

His eyes drifted to his wife… she just nodded.

“Do you think it could be about…”

They remained quiet, not wanting to say anything out loud. He needed to find out what Efret Farr had to say.

*****​

A look of shock was on Just’s face after he took it all in. The thing he dared to hope for was true. Judah was alive.

Judah was alive.

Why would he reach out to Efret? What was she doing on Woostri? There were so many questions running through his mind that Justice was pacing without actually saying anything. He was animated like he was when he found some new artifact.

He stopped.

Laughed.

Smiled.

“Sorry… I’m just… shocked and thrilled. Sorry Mal… Malcoma Hesse… she is Uncle Judah’s… girlfriend? Lover? I am never sure with him. He… Wait… his vision didn’t try flirting with you did it?”

 

[Efret Farr]

His girlfriend or lover.

Regardless of Justice's lack of clarity on his uncle's relationship status, either explained why the elder Lesan would have directed Efret to find her.

Efret blinked, her thought process grinding to a halt and shifting suddenly. Her brows bunched again, this time in confusion rather than curiosity. She shook her head. "No. No. He seemed...too preoccupied." She recalled the difficulties she had seen him struggle against as he had signed for her. It had been if the Force bent unnaturally to imprison him resisted even attempts at kinetic communication.

It probably did, wherever he really was.

"This Malcoma Hesse," she said, returning gracefully but urgently to the matter at hand. Still, she made a mental note about the possibility of eventually encountering Judah's flirtatious nature. "Where should I look for her?"

Justice Lesan​

 

[Justice Lesan]

Wearing: xxx
Tag: Efret Farr

“Haha well that is good… I mean it’s not like he hasn’t tried to sleep… his… way…. Uhhhh I shouldn’t let that statement finish itself.”

Just was a little embarrassed. He swallowed it quickly though, with an audible gulp.

“Umm… Coruscant or on the family compound on Corellia. Prolly Coruscant.”

Justice made sure they were alone, even though he knew they already were. This was information he did not want to really say out loud, but if his uncle had told her to find Malcoma he needed to. It was going to be better than her being surprised later.

“She was his infobroker for a while, and she is… connected. A made woman.”

He paused.

“Do you think he is okay? I mean the Dread Queen… The Empress Dread Queen? He was always acting like he had a death wish ever since my aunt passed away, but this… is… well he is always getting himself into trouble.”

 

[Efret Farr]

Efret blinked a few times rapidly, not trying to clear her vision but her surprise. "Made, meaning with a mob?" she asked.

A Jedi Shadow and a mobster? It wasn't nearly as strange as a Jedi and a Sith falling into romantic partnership, but it was still strange.

"Which one?" she followed up. There were a few Underworld mobs on Coruscant, as far as she knew. Granted, she didn't know the active ones from the inactive ones like a Jedi Investigator might, so she didn't want to make any guesses if Justice could tell her the truth instead.

Efret's brows rose when he asked if she thought Judah was okay, the action not taken out of surprise but sorrow. "I don't know," she replied honestly. "Not for sure, but I do know that he made his vision sign, when they're not always able to communicate with their viewers." When she had asked him that first question, she hadn't expected him to reply directly to her, but had shared her understanding of GBSL with him just in case he did. He was very strong in the Force, even under the oppressive influence of the Empress. "It was impressive..." She trailed off and wrung her fingers shortly before signing again. "...in an oppressive kind of way.

"I'll find Malcoma," she promised, not allowing herself or Justice to continue imagining Judah's wellbeing—at least not now while they were in each other's company.

But she wasn't done with just that.

"When I return, we find Judah."

Justice Lesan​

 

[Justice Lesan]

Wearing: xxx
Tag: Efret Farr

Justice nodded, “Yeah… that’s what I mean.”

He did not like to dwell on it, but then again his Uncle had never been conventional in his choice of women. Before Mal, Judah had met Katara on a mission as well. It seemed the Shadow fell for the women he worked with while working. That was not too out of the normal, but Judah’s line of work was not normal.

Just smiled at the way Efret seemed to admire how her vision of Judah worked. A nod followed.

“He uses the force in unconventional ways. I should have thought about going to Woostri myself when he did not come back. It sounds like you stumbled onto a breadcrumb of sorts. At least we can assume he is still alive.”

All Justice could seem to do was nod at whatever Efret said. It was likely the shock of hearing that Judah was alive. He believed it, had hoped for it. Having the truth of it confirmed had hit him harder than he expected though. Justice was still trying to wrap his mind around it. Hollis would be happy.

“Yeah… find Malcoma. If Judah left anything behind it would be with her, whether she is aware she has it or not.”

Justice nodded again, and almost winced at it.

“We will find him,” he repeated with a nod. “Go… I can’t help until we know more anyway.”

 

[Efret Farr]

"It's alright. I don't think that breadcrumb was for you."

Judah might not have been as forthcoming with all he had and was experiencing at the hands of Srina Talon if it had been Justice rather than Efret on that beach.

"Please give my love to Hollis and your children. Tell them the good news, even if they don't understand."

They'd meet their great-uncle soon.

---

A few hours later and just west of her villa, the landing gear of Efret's tandem X-wing sunk into the tall grass, the tips of the blades stretching up to caress, but not quite reaching, the bottom of the starfighter's frame. R6-E2's head whirled around, the indicator light on his dome blinking in time with his excited beeps, as Efret pulled herself up into the cockpit.

"We'll visit the Selvaris Enclave first, Tewy," she announced. "Maybe Ran or Nor Fyn will know where to start."

But Efret didn't meet Ran or Nor Fyn at the Jedi camp on Selvaris. Instead, Rix Braji waited for her on the outskirts of her landing zone.

She spotted his familiar tall and redheaded form out of Nirrah's eyes, watching out of the transparisteel, as she unbuckled her flight restraint harness. Her golden headset clattered against the dashboard as she hurried to flip the switch that popped the canopy. It rose slowly on its hydraulics, but Efret managed to contort and wriggle herself free. He wasn't wearing the white, wide-shouldered tunic even though her had returned to the Order, in a way. Of course, it wasn't the same Order he had been removed from, but it was an Order nonetheless. Instead, he wore a simple light jacket over dark trousers—something more suited for the jungle and perhaps also his personal journey toward rehabilitation.

"Rix?" she asked, though she knew it to be him. His hair was longer than it had been the last time she had visited him in prison, but didn't in the least hinder her recognition.

There was no hint of apprehension in his smile. "Master Farr," he replied verbally without signing.

A pang of disappointment moved through Efret's chest until she realized that his fluency had likely slipped during his incarceration.

Her brows knit as she approached him. "I doubted that they'd set you free." That I'd ever see you again, felt a little too crude of a thing to say, even in truth, so she forewent the addition.

His smile turned mischievous. "Regretful?"

Efret shook her head, perhaps too quickly, unwilling to dignify the jest as just that. Rix' face fell—he hadn't intended for her to take him seriously—but before he could say anything, she corrected, "No, no. I'm very glad they did. I just...didn't expect it." She had asked Pipma to suggest that the New Jedi Order pardon Rix only after she had officially left; naturally, she hadn't imagined that anyone with the power to make the suggestion a reality would listen. She had never been quite so happy to discover she had been wrong.

The New Jedi Order wasn't the kind of organization that left one of its own in chains to surely die at the hands of one of their enemies after all.

"How are you?" The question felt hollow in Efret's hands, but important to ask nonetheless.

"Well enough," he answered, another albeit smaller smile on his face. "Alive, thanks to you."

Smiling this time, Efret shook her head again. "No one truly acts alone."

His reply was just a little more instant than normal, like he had thought she might say that. "Sometimes they do."

Suddenly, the memory of their last time on Taris rolled in like a fog.

Rix continued, "I've seen the error of my ways. It would be an honor to assist you again." The first hint of anxiety showed itself as his hands began to fidget at his sides. Her gaze drifted to them, distracted, but returned quickly to his face. "I-I know that you're not interested in artifacts anymore. I'm sorry if what I did to you and Knight von Ascania had anything to do with—"

It was very rare for Efret to interrupt anyone. She only did when the benefit outweighed the rudeness, which it did now.

"No. It wasn't a factor."

"That's a relief." His smile grew slightly. "I only meant to help with the reason that brought you here."

"Thank you. Yes, I'm looking for someone who a Shadow asked me to find. Her name's Malcoma Hesse."

"That's odd," he commented. "She's an information broker and slave trader with The Family, a Coruscanti mob. I heard her name a few times in prison. Why would a Shadow ask you to find her?"

"I simply must."

She didn't want to lie, but she also didn't want to tell the truth, not that she even knew the whole truth, so that's all she said on the matter.

"I see," he replied with a nod, and let that explanation hold. "Well, she had a boarding house for girls and young women in Monument Plaza. Rumor on the cell block shortly before I left was that she had them all relocated."

"Do you know where?"

Rix nodded. "The Family has estates on Epica, but if the point of the relocation was safety, and I suspect it was, she wouldn't have gone there."

She conjured a map of factional territories in her mind. "Right. It is awfully close to Sith space as well." Still, close to beat inside by a large margin, but neither was exactly preferable. Mal seemed smart enough to know that; his logic was sound.

It was like he had anticipated her follow-up question when he added, "But I imagine crime is as alive and well as it's always been on Denon."

"Good idea. I'll check there. Thank you."

With another nod, he stepped back and began to return to camp.

"Rix?" The sound of her interpretation unit cause him to turn around a few meters away from her. "Last I saw her, Miona was on Theed. She has a new master and must be close to getting knighted."

He didn't reply for a few moments, the amount of time it took for realization, then grief, then a sort of pride to cycle through him. "I'm pleased to hear that."

"Go to Naboo," she urged. "You shouldn't miss that ceremony. You've been a much larger part of her journey than you know.

"The best gift we can give to others, and ourselves, is to begin again to walk in the Light. Let her see that you've chosen to."

 

[Efret Farr]

At worst, Denon’s Corporate Security was corrupt. At best, it was misappropriated—often and extensively.

As much had been well-known throughout the New Jedi Order’s ranks, rather than being an understanding between Investigators and Shadows.

Still, a precious few who wore this specific badge were willing to help Jedi without expecting a bribe. Efret found one such officer tucked into one corner of the Old Parliament Security Department's bullpen.

He, Celwik, nodded at the mention of Malcoma Hesse’s name. “You should join the force, Master Jedi,” he said just as curtly, voice dry but intention not sarcastic. Though Efret could not hear him, she felt his body’s desperation for sleep and a higher salary wafting off of him. She made a note to pass on the sentiment when she saw Rix again.

Not if. When.

Celwik shuffled some holoslates on his desk before shifting his fingers onto the keyboard of his terminal. “Her businesses…” he began. After a flourish of his mouse and a few keystrokes, he sat back. “...one Eden’s Club and Hestia Guesthouse were registered a couple of months back. The original paperwork was transferred from the Galactic City Business Registry.”

Efret pursed her lips, somewhat surprised. “That’s very legal of her.”

“Mob types tend to be, ‘til they ain’t.” Nodding again, he leaned forward in his chair. “You want to pay her a visit? She also has a private residence in the Cloud Estates.”

“No,” she replied. “But I do think I’ll visit one of her associates.”

So Celwik gave her a name. He didn’t even need to look at any records.

---

The Upcity Entertainment District gave much similar vibes as Uscru, at least as far as Efret had experienced the latter. She had only been there once, with the other women on the Jedi Council. A sigh parted her lips almost involuntarily. That was a very good memory.

In the next moment, she set the recollection aside to focus on the task at hand: finding Damris Inkari.

She reached out, allowing her senses to flow around the buildings of the nearest few city blocks, until they reached Nirrah as she found a perch on a roof ledge. Efret’s perspective snapped into the convor and they both looked down on a promenade. The dark-haired man dressed smartly in a three piece suit they were following was turning into an alleyway.

Efret retracted her sight into her own body but, when she saw on her own again, she wasn’t where she had been. The Force had folded to place her into the same alley that Damris had entered. She stepped out from her shadowy corner to round the nearest corner.

A flash of movement and cloth and her back slammed up against the brick wall. The Force cushioned her teeth from rattling in her skull. Her eyes shot open as quickly as they had clamped closed in response to the impact.

Damris’ face, contorted with hate, was mere inches from hers. “—following me?” he snarled.

Extrapolating his whole question was instinctual. Her signs shrunk to the small space that he had allowed between them. “Because I didn’t think you’d answer the door if I knocked.”

He glanced quickly down at her hands, not expecting her to communicate with Sign or the vocabulary voice that spoke out of the pendant of one of her layered necklaces. “Who are you?”

“A friend of Judah Lesan.”

Then he let her go and stepped back. “So a Jedi?”

Now unrestricted, her signs grew to their normal size. “Yes,” she affirmed. “He asked me to find Malcoma.”

“He did?”

“Yes.”

“I haven’t heard from her since the Empire took Coruscant. She was on-world. She refused to leave.”

There was a complex, abyssal sadness about Damris. It called to Efret to dip her hand in, to understand, perhaps to ease, but she paid it no heed. He clearly didn’t think very highly of Jedi already; even minimal and well-intentioned emotional manipulation would only cause his opinion to slip further.

“Judah should have come himself. I don’t think…” He paused, not because a modicum of respect for another human made him reconsider what he was saying, but to whet the incoming insult like a tempered blade. “...you could exfiltrate her.”

But if it did cut her, all that tumbled out of the wound was patience, kindness, and understanding.

“Judah’s in his own predicament,” she explained shortly, only willing to be vague. Damris didn’t need to know the specifics; he couldn’t do anything but worry about if he did and he was likely already doing more than his share of that for the headmistress.

“I may not be who you’d expect or would choose if you could, but I am a master.” One with a specialization in archeology and undoubtedly physical limitations, but she could—had—held her own against various agents of Darkness before. “And I’m her best chance.” It wasn’t ideal, even for her, not that she’d admit that now—not to him, not to herself, either, lest she shy away from Judah’s request. The truth was that not many Jedi would set foot on Coruscant now short of being part of a large liberation force, and that was ages off. Efret imagined fewer yet would go to save one criminal, even one with a connection to a fellow Jedi.

It really was up to Efret.

Her hazel eyes shimmered with sincerity, her signs even more exact than usual to carry her intention. “Trust me.”

Damris moved his lips in a series of thoughtful expressions rather than words. The silence for him, the relative stillness for her, planted doubt into her mind and she wondered if her interpretation unit had failed.

Until he spoke and raised an arm to indicate behind her.

“This way.”

 

[Efret Farr]

With one hand, she carefully selected one of the hors d'oeuvres from off the end table beside her. A thick slick of burrata lay atop a woven wheat cracker, drizzled with an gochujang oil imported from Atrisia.

With her other hand, she signed thank-you to the young Mirialan woman who had brought out the platter of food. Her interpretation unit echoed her verbally. If the Dread Queen could somehow have known that hunger hadn’t panged through Efret’s stomach since Woostri, an effect of the things that Judah had shown her, a smile would have surely cracked across her alabaster face.

So Efret took a bite even though she didn’t particularly feel the urge to. Fermented umami tingled across her tongue, spice cut by the mildness of the cheese. A few weeks ago, she would have found the sensation enjoyable, but now she found it only a side effect of chewing.

The sofa cushion to her left down warped. She turned to see that Damris now sat at her side with a datapad in hand.

“Here,” he said, pointing out a reading on the screen: a set of galactic coordinates.

She looked from them to him with a healthy dose of incredulity. “How accurate is this?”

He nodded. “Very. It’s a tracking beacon from her Finger. Top-notch technology, so much so most don't even dream of it, never mind creating it. Untraceable by anyone not in the Family's inner circle.” He flashed a coy smile. “I’d rather not tell you how it works.”

“That's unnecessary,” she replied with a more sincere smile. “I don't want to arrest anyone. I want to get Malcoma back home safely.”

After a short pause, she added, “But you will have to trust me with that beacon frequency.” Efret had a feeling that those coordinates would be changing in the near future. Maybe even frequently. The tingle of untying the knotted mysteries of an ancient culture ran down her spine.

"I will plug it into my starship's navicomputer, but don't worry. It hasn't been connected to any Jedi archive for approximately half of a year. When I return, you can watch me erase any residual trace off of my system."

Damris nodded. "I appreciate it. Mal will too."

Efret indicated back to the coordinates. "How long have you had these?"

"Three weeks." Shame ran cold through his veins, chilling both his psyche and Efret's, which had brushed his unintentionally. "She told me when she sent the girls and me away from Coruscant not to leave Denon." He swallowed saliva thick with an emotion teetering on despair. "Even if she didn't join us by the date she expected to."

"When was that?"

"Four days after the anticipated invasion started."

Her face screwed up with thoughtfulness, not judgement, though such was misinterpreted—Damris' mind reacting like a scorned dog—until she spoke. "That's a long time to survive."

To survive. The signed and spoken words hung heavy in the air, but that weight was necessary in its truth. Malcoma wouldn't have stayed away anywhere near this long if something or someone hadn't detained her.

Efret continued, "Can anyone else in the Family respond to the beacon?" If she hadn't wanted Damris to come to her aid, most likely so that her tenants still had one protector, maybe then she was hoping for another mobster to.

"Theoretically," he said. Together with the word, his expression wasn't hopeful. "We've personally lost contact with many Family members since the Empire's invasion of Coruscant, including the Donna, her consigliera, and all of the capos."

"I see. Then why would she turn on the signal?"

Damris sucked on his bottom lip, then let it go. "Maybe she was taken as a slave by Sith or pirates," he suggested though he hadn't wanted to speak such a fate aloud. It didn't make the possibility any more real, but it felt like it did. And it felt like a punch to the liver, beyond excruciating to admit the reality that this may have happened to Mal again.

There had been something comfortingly final about the number three.

There was nothing similarly attractive about the number four.

As her heart fell to anchor her feet to the floor, generational trauma rose to throttle her lungs. Slavery was a universally hated concept among Jedi, though hate wasn't always the right word. Lorrdians, however, had a true and even deeper loathing for it.

"That would scare her into changing her mind," added Damris.

Efret drew a grounding breath in through her nose. The luxuries of the Guesthouse all around her weren't empty status symbols; they sung of freedom, of Mal's story and opportunity that she offered other former slaves. The reflection of the opportunity was somewhat tarnished by its avenue of crime, but it was still beautiful. Meaningful. The very idea of all those stories ending in chains churned bile into Efret's stomach.

"It's important that you stay here," she told Damris before putting a hand on his knee. "I'll bring her back."

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Her blood beating against her skull was a sadistic beastmaster rhythmically striking the bars of an animal’s cage. At least her pulse was still strong. It migrated down her neck into her wrist, stopping well short of where her Finger had been just minutes ago. Or had it been hours already?

The Family surgeon hadn’t been joking when he had performed the surgery to trade Mal’s organic pointer finger with a cybernetic appendage. Having it torn out had caused extensive nerve damage. She was no doctor, of course, but she didn’t have to be to know that excruciating pain followed almost immediately by loss of all sensation throughout the hand wasn’t good.

She hadn’t even felt as much as a tingle when the pirates had seared her amputation closed, though she had smelled the burning flesh.

An unexpected development. It didn't seem real. She was normally on their side of this.

Her situation didn’t stir anger in her anymore. She had spent all of that days ago, demanding to be let out, threatening her captors, trying to find a way to escape, feigning the cold strength that was hers by reputation rather than nature.

Imagine her surprise when she realized that an emotion she had once thought infinite in its depths ran as dry within her as an overdrawn well.

All that was left now was fear and the urge to cry. Cry until her throat chapped. Cry until she dehydrated. Cry until the front of her top was soaked in sadness more expansive than the deep space surely beyond the outermost hull of whatever ship she had been put on.

If only she had convinced Judah to stay or had gone with him.

At least she had his necklace. It reminded her of both him and his wife, but mostly now of him.

Even if she dared, she wouldn’t be able to reach for where she had hidden it in the nick of time in one of many subtle pockets in her bodysuit in case the slavers were watching. Instead, she let her eyelids fall closed and tried to imagine the shape of the pendant on the back of them.

Two lengths of silver intertwined thrice to create gaps of decreasing sizes. The petals of a flower supported the back of the frame, on top of which bloomed a six-pointed crystal star with another in its center.