Private Growing Intel

[Cassian Abrantes]

West Moenia
Observatory
RIS Headquarters
Shade ​

The morning light off the Solleu River always looked cleaner from this side of the city. West Moenia wasn't as polished as Theed, it was steel and glass, sharp corners and high walls but the sun still caught in the mirrored façade of the Republic Intelligence complex like a promise that someone wanted to believe in.

Cassian paused at the base of the front steps, standing in his armor feeling that light breeze against his armor, the breeze that rolled down from the cliffs. The permacrete plaza below the Headquarters was busy but orderly: couriers in slate uniforms, analysts moving in pairs, the rhythmic hum of repulsorlifts as transports came and went from the lower docks. It was the kind of motion that looked like chaos to anyone else but to him, it was choreography. Every step, every conversation, every datapad swipe had meaning.

When Shade's silhouette appeared from the speeder line, he recognized her even before she drew close.

"West Moenia's finest labyrinth." Cassian said by way of greeting, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You'll find the architecture's as evasive as the people inside." He gestured toward the rising tiers of the complex clean lines, marble inlays, and the subtle shimmer of a security field that wove itself through the courtyard like invisible silk.

"Welcome to Republic Intelligence." he added, his tone somewhere between irony and invitation. "I'll give you the scenic version first. The unpleasant bits come later."

"I'm glad you came." Cassian said with a smile.

 

[Shade]

Shade paused at the edge of the courtyard, the hum of the repulsorlifts brushing across the air like distant static. Sunlight caught against the lines of her armor — matte black swallowing the reflection, silver trim tracing the motion of her stride. She moved through the bustle without effort, without hurry; the sort of stillness that drew attention only because it refused to ask for any.


Her eyes swept the plaza, tracing the movements of couriers and analysts, the subtle hum of the transports below. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth, almost imperceptible.


"Familiar," she said softly, her gaze lingering on the rise of the plaza and the mirrored façades. "I've seen arrangements like this before… tracked someone through a place almost exactly like it. The details differ, but the rhythm,the choreography, remains. It's the same."


When she stopped before him, her gaze lifted briefly to the mirrored façade before settling back on Cassian. Her crimson eyes met his, controlled, precise, yet carrying the faintest edge of memory.

"It lives up to its reputation," she said evenly, taking in the structure's symmetry, the subtle hum of its defense grid, the deliberate spacing of the guards. "A place designed to make you forget which direction you came from."

Her eyes flicked toward his armor, then back to his face, not assessing, not suspicious, but the quiet cataloguing of a professional adjusting to new parameters.

"Scenic version, then." The faintest trace of wryness ghosted through her tone. "I'll reserve judgment on the unpleasant parts until I've seen the angles myself."

She fell into step beside him, measured, matching his pace without conscious effort.

"You said you were glad I came." A pause not challenging, but curious, steady as a line drawn on glass. "Most operatives prefer keeping liabilities at a distance."

Her head turned slightly, crimson gaze catching the filtered sunlight as it crossed the plaza. "So tell me, Cassian," she added, tone quieter now, more deliberate, "which do you think I am—an asset, or a risk?"

She fell silent after that, letting her observation hang between them. Nothing more. The name of her former employer, the mission, the stakes; all remained carefully sealed behind the mask she wore as Shade.

And yet…the rhythm of this place…it calls something from memory. Not the names, not the orders, not the mission, just the pattern of movement, the pulse beneath the steps. My pulse matches it, if only for a moment. I notice. I catalog. I survive. Nothing more.

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade ​

Cassian studied her in the flicker of the morning light, the crowd's rhythm bending subtly around her as if the space itself made room. He'd seen operatives walk with quiet confidence before, but Shade carried something different discipline turned inward, pared down until only the essential remained. No wasted motion. No visible intent.

"Depends who's asking." he said finally, tone mild but threaded with that faint Naboo undercurrent of irony. The kind that made sincerity sound like another layer of disguise.

He started forward again, guiding her along the ascending steps. "Republic Intelligence doesn't call anyone a liability outright. Not until they've filed at least three forms and a witness report." he added, a flicker of humor smoothing the edge of the words. "But between you and me—'risk' and 'asset' aren't mutually exclusive categories. The best ones usually blur the line."

The doors hissed open as they approached, polished transparisteel splitting with hydraulic precision. Cassian didn't look back immediately, though he felt her presence at his shoulder quiet, alert, as if the building itself were trying to map her the same way she mapped it.

"I was glad you came." he said at last, glancing sidelong at her. "Not because it makes my job easier. But because it tells me you're still willing to walk into a place like this without flinching. That's not liability it's experience."


He gestured toward the entryway where light bent off the atrium's marble floor and the insignia of the Republic gleamed faintly beneath the security field. "Let's call it what it is, Shade. You're not here to blend in. You're here because you see the patterns most people miss. And I can't keep doing this alone, I need help. I'm not above admitting that. But in order to expand and to help me track down these shadows."

The wind shifted as they crossed the threshold filtered, sterile, carrying the faint tang of ion and polish. Inside, the hum of the city faded, replaced by the measured tempo of bureaucracy and quiet power.

"Come on." Cassian said, his voice softening as the doors sealed behind them. "I'll show you where the choreography starts."

 

[Shade]

Shade stepped through the atrium’s threshold, the filtered light catching along the edges of her armor as if even it were remembering something. The air here smelled of polish and order — a far cry from the damp stone and copper tang of the canal where their first meeting had almost ended differently.
"I’ve walked through places like this before," she said, her voice low, deliberate. "Clean lines. Hidden sightlines. The kind of architecture that makes you forget where the exits really are."
Her gaze followed the sweep of the glass overhead, tracing its precise symmetry, the hum of the defense grid beneath. "The canal had the same rhythm. Just quieter. Fewer uniforms, more shadows."
A faint curve touched her mouth — not warmth, but the barest suggestion of irony. "I was supposed to bring you to Nar Shaddaa. That was the job. I had you in my sights until the patrol came through. I thought they’d cost me the contract."
Her eyes lifted to his then, steady, sharp, the kind of look that could have been a challenge if it weren’t softened by something quieter beneath. "Turns out, they just changed the terms."
The space between them carried the faint echo of that night — water, light, and motion, the memory of their fight threaded through the stillness.
"You could’ve turned me in that night," she said, quieter now, the words deliberate, as if measured for weight. "You didn’t. Instead, you made an offer."
Her voice fell away, leaving only the low hum of the facility around them. Then, a breath later, she added, "So here I am — seeing if your Republic’s as persuasive as its recruiter."
She fell into step beside him once more, her stride silent but sure, the brush of motion calculated — though a flicker of something less disciplined stirred at the edge of awareness. His presence, steady and composed, drew her focus the way gravity did — subtle, unwelcome, and undeniable.
It was nothing she would name, not aloud. Attraction, curiosity — all liabilities, all distractions. Yet her mind, despite itself, replayed the brief image of his expression under the flickering canal lights — calm even when she’d nearly cut him down. That kind of composure left a mark.
Her gaze stayed forward, her tone unchanged, all calculation.
"Lead on, Cassian."
But when she spoke his name, it lingered in the air like the last note of a song she hadn’t meant to play — quiet, precise, and far too human. A small betrayal the Force itself might have felt.

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade​

He turned toward her then, catching her gaze with his own calm, steady, but never passive. Cassian's eyes had that particular kind of attentiveness that felt like it could see through the armor without meaning to. "You could've taken a shot before the patrol came through." he said evenly. "But you didn't."

He started walking again, the sound of their boots echoing softly against the marble. "Maybe you already knew the contract was wrong. Or maybe." he added, his voice softening, "You were just curious to see how the story would end."

They passed through the first checkpoint, the guards giving crisp nods, not daring to question the presence of the black-armored woman at his side. Cassian returned the gesture absently. His focus never left her.

"The Republic isn't persuasive." he continued. "It's patient. It waits for people to stop running from themselves." His gaze flicked to her again, the faintest suggestion of warmth threading through his tone. "You came here because you wanted to see if that patience was real. I don't blame you."

He gestured to the corridor ahead, where the hall stretched long and austere, lined with dataports and surveillance feeds a place built on the illusion of control.

Their first stop with the Intelligence Analysis Center. Advanced equipment and a data processing equipment for analyzing intelligence and everything in between.

 

[Shade]

Shade matched his pace, the measured cadence of her boots carrying her through the corridor with effortless control. Her eyes flicked to the data consoles and the faintly glowing screens along the walls, cataloguing them with quiet precision. Every sensor, every feed, every blinking light was a part of a larger mechanism she had learned to read instinctively — patterns, redundancies, weak points — and even here, the Republic's architecture spoke to discipline she could respect.

"Patience," she murmured, voice even, almost reflective, "is only useful when the observer knows what to watch for." Her crimson gaze returned to him, steady, calm, but carrying the faintest edge of calculation beneath its surface. "You think I came here to test the Republic. Perhaps I did. Or perhaps…" She tilted her head, letting a shadow fall across her face, "…I simply wanted to see if you were right about me."

Her hand hovered for a moment near the edge of the console as they passed, not touching, just acknowledging the rhythm of work that hummed quietly around them. The past mission, the canal, the patrol that had let her go — all lingered just beneath her control, a faint reminder that curiosity and calculation were often intertwined.

She let her gaze drift forward to the center of the room, where analysts moved efficiently, typing, scanning, and manipulating streams of data. "Precision," she said softly, almost to herself, "is as much about restraint as execution."

Her eyes flicked back to Cassian, unreadable, composed, but something in the pause — the slight incline of her head, the subtle measurement of his expression — suggested she was quietly weighing him as she had done in the past. Not trust, not yet. But assessment. And perhaps, against her better judgment, a trace of respect.

"Show me where the choreography starts," she said finally, tone calm, deliberate. "I want to see how the pieces move before deciding where I fit."

The quiet between them was almost a rhythm in itself, two professionals stepping in sync, neither yielding, both observing — the first act of understanding in a space built for control.

Cassian Abrantes