Private Here Comes the Rain Again

[Katarine Ryiah]

"Here comes the rain again."
​

Coruscant had become a graveyard wearing jewelry.

The city still glittered from orbit with endless rivers of light wrapped around steel and glass like veins of gold, but down in the lower levels, beneath the propaganda holos and towering Sith banners, the planet rotted. Fear lived here now. Quiet. Constant. Watching from security cams and checkpoint scanners and the crimson-armored patrols that stalked the streets at every hour.

For Katarine Ryiah, it was the most dangerous place in the galaxy to be.

Which was precisely why she had stayed.


For over a month she had lived beneath the name Kat Veyr, embedding herself within a swoop gang known as the Digital Dragons while tracking a serial killer carving through the undercity districts. Bodies kept appearing in abandoned transit tunnels and back-alley apartments, always arranged carefully, almost ritualistically, as if the murderer wanted the corpses discovered. Rumors spread faster than facts in the lower levels, and eventually every whisper circled back toward the Dragons.

So Katarine followed.

She dyed her hair dark weeks ago, covering the distinctive white streaks that made her too recognizable to old enemies and surviving Jedi alike. The disguise wasn't perfect, but on Coruscant, survival depended less on perfection and more on confidence. People saw what they expected to see. A tired woman in a leather jacket nursing expensive liquor at a nightclub didn't draw attention.

A Jedi hiding in Sith-controlled territory did.

The Velvet Fang pulsed around her in waves of music and violet light. Smoke curled against the ceiling while synth-heavy bass rattled the glasses behind the bar. Dragons occupied nearly half the club tonight, all drinking, shouting over dart games, dancing recklessly beneath flickering neon holos shaped like snarling beasts.

Kat sat alone near the far end of the bar with a glass of brandy cradled loosely in one hand.

Tight black pants. White tank top. Black leather jacket. Simple. Forgettable. Dangerous in the right lighting.

To anyone watching, she looked relaxed. Maybe a little drunk. Maybe enjoying herself.

But exhaustion clung to her like a shadow.

There were dark circles beneath her eyes if someone caught the light correctly. Her shoulders carried the stiffness of too many sleepless nights and too many close calls with Sith patrols prowling the upper districts. Three times this week alone she'd felt inquisitors nearby, cold wounds in the Force moving through the city like predators scenting blood.

One mistake would end with a red blade through her spine.

Still, her attention never drifted from the crowd.

A group near the dart boards erupted into laughter as someone missed badly enough to shatter a liquor bottle instead. On the dance floor, bodies pressed together under rotating crimson lights while spice smoke drifted through the air in pale clouds. One Dragon stood on a booth screaming lyrics into a stolen microphone while others pounded fists against tables in approval.

Noise. Chaos. Distraction.

Perfect cover for a killer.

Kat lifted the brandy to her lips slowly, eyes scanning reflections in the mirror behind the bar instead of turning her head outright. She'd learned long ago that predators noticed when they were being hunted.

Three victims in the last ten days.

Same mutilations. Same symbol carved into flesh. Same impossible precision.

And tonight, for the first time in weeks, she could feel something shifting beneath the surface.

The Force moved strangely here. Uneasy. Twisted by the weight of Sith occupation and the suffering saturating Coruscant's foundations. Most nights it felt drowned beneath billions of voices.

Tonight it felt focused.

A cold sensation crawled down her spine.

Someone in this club knew something.

Maybe the murderer.

Maybe someone tied to the Sith.

Maybe both.

Across the room, one of the Dragons raised a drink toward her with a crooked grin. Katarine smirked back automatically, playing the role she'd spent weeks building.

Then the doors to the club's private hallway slid open.

And every instinct in her body went still.


Mikhail Shorn

 

[Mikhail Shorn]

The figure who came through the doors to the club's private hallway did not look like a Sith warlord. He was human, a little above average height, but he did not wear a skull helmet or gold plated, gem encrusted armor - just a nerf leather jacket, a black shirt beneath, and trousers. He might have looked at home in any spaceport in the galaxy, but beneath tousled dark hair stared pale blue eyes, like two chips of ice.

It was his eyes that screamed danger - the way they passed over the Dragons in the Velvet Fang, as if he both saw them lounging around, but did not see them. Did not recognize them as living beings. Utter indifference, contempt, and arrogance hung around him like his own shadows.

But for those who could use the Force, there was something else. Something worse.

An aphotic miasma of Dark Side energy rippled and contorted around him. Power. Power that would rival any in this galaxy.

The newcomer's eyes swept the bar, as if he was searching for something, or someone, then they paused on the figure of Katarine Ryiah . He drifted over to a space beside her, smooth as oil, silent as smoke - locking eyes through the mirror behind the bar.

He leaned an elbow on the bar as he came to a stop right beside her, personal space anathema to him.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, the barest tinge of a Tapani accent lingering on his tongue as he feigned a brief interest in looking around at the bar, at the city, at the planet itself.

"This place has really gone to shit," said Mikhail Shorn, the Thronebreaker, back from the grave.

Katarine Ryiah

 

[Katarine Ryiah]

"Falling on my head like a memory."

​

Katarine felt the air change the moment he stepped into the room.

Her deep green eyes lifted to the mirror behind the bar, catching his reflection in the warped gold glass. For one desperate second, she pleaded silently with the Force that he wouldn't notice her, though she already knew how hopeless that was. Her presence in the Force burned too brightly. In a room crowded with drunk gang members, dealers, and mercenaries, she was the second strongest signature there. To someone like him, she may as well have been a beacon.

She hadn't seen him since the Sith invasion of Tund. since smoke and screaming skies and his hand dragging her onto a departing ship moments before the city collapsed behind them. He had saved her life.

That didn't mean she wanted to see him now.

Her gaze flicked toward the hallway near the washrooms where a side exit waited in shadow. Leaving would destroy a month-long investigation and every ounce of trust she'd built with the Digital Dragons. Staying meant something far more dangerous.

Him.

For a moment she sat frozen between instinct and duty, fingers tightening around her glass of brandy as he crossed the club floor. Music pounded through the Velvet Fang, bass vibrating beneath her boots, but it all seemed distant beneath the sudden roar of her pulse.

Then he was beside her.

Too close.

Katarine closed her eyes briefly as craving slithered up her spine, hot and humiliating. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath until she spoke.

"Yeah," she murmured, voice catching slightly, "the new management leaves much to be desired."

The sound of his voice alone nearly unraveled her. Her eyes lifted again to the mirror before she could stop herself, catching his reflection over her shoulder and instantly regretting it. Force help her, why did he have to look like that?As though his presence in the Force wasn't temptation enough.

The dark lines of him were all effortless danger: sharp jaw shadowed in dim neon light, the calm confidence in his posture, the kind of face that belonged to trouble and knew it. The Force curled around him like smoke around a flame, warm and intoxicating against her senses.

Katarine tore her attention away and scanned the dance floor instead. One of the women from the gang laughed near the sabacc tables, another swayed through the crowd with a drink in hand. Maybe she could pull one of them over. Create a distraction. Anything to keep him occupied long enough for her to disappear before she did something catastrophically stupid.

Because if she stayed here much longer, she wasn't entirely sure she was strong enough to stay on the wagon.



Mikhail Shorn

 

[Mikhail Shorn]

“Oh, please,” Mikhail snorted, gaze flicking up to follow her look before transfixing her again with eyes so cold and so very blue.

“We really going to play this game?”

Gesturing with one hand, he floated a bottle of Corellian whiskey off the back shelf and into his waiting fingers.

“Hello Mikhail, I haven’t seen you in decades, thanks for saving my life by the way,” the cork popped softly as he tugged it off and poured himself a glass.

The bartender gave Shorn a side-eye, trying to measure up how much of a pain in the ass it would be to make Mikhail put the bottle back.

“What’s that? You died and spent the last few decades getting tortured in the Netherworld?” Mikhail continued to mimic her voice, holding a hand up over his mouth in mock shock before rolling his eyes and tossing back the drink, downing the entire contents of the glass at once and pouring himself another.

“That’s terrible,” His lips twisted into a smirk. “And then I say yes, yes it is, but I’m back. Now’s the part where you say what you’re doing here…”

He drummed a finger on the bar top, sidling closer as he leaned in close enough he could smell the scent of her umber hair and whispered,

“…Katarine.”

Katarine Ryiah

 

[Katarine Ryiah]

"Falling on my head like a new emotion."
​

He was such an ass. Part of her wanted to tell him exactly that, preferably with enough venom to wipe that infuriating smirk off his face, but the moment he mentioned the Netherworld, the insult died before it ever reached her lips. Despite everything, Katarine was still compassionate to a fault. Even knowing what he was capable of, even knowing Mikhail walked through morality like it was a suggestion instead of a boundary, she still felt a sharp twist of sympathy for him.

Her expression softened despite herself.

"I'm sorry about the Netherworld," she said quietly. "That sounds… horrific."

He was standing far too close. Kat shifted sideways on the barstool, putting what little distance she could between them without making it obvious. Her pulse had become annoyingly unsteady, and she forced herself to breathe normally as the scent of smoke, leather, and something distinctly him curled through her senses. It had been a mistake to look directly at him. Her stomach flipped the second she did.

"Thank you for saving my life."

The words were sincere, which somehow made them worse. She couldn't hold his gaze for long afterward. Instead, her eyes flicked toward the mirror behind the bar, pretending interest in the chaos reflected there instead of the dangerous man beside her.

"I'm here on business," she said, regaining some of her composure. "Why are you here, Mikhail?"

Please let there be a girlfriend. A wife. Some possessive lover ready to drag him away from her in a jealous rage who could show up any second now.

Her deep green eyes caught movement in the mirror again, Zane. Leader of the Digital Dragons. Gang lieutenant. Current target of her carefully cultivated flirtation campaign for the last month to get close to him.

He was watching the pair of them and he looked furious. His stare was locked on the two of them from across the club, jaw tight enough to crack teeth. Katarine resisted the urge to groan into her drink. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Her undercover operation was dangling over a cliff edge, Mikhail had appeared out of nowhere looking unfairly attractive, and now one of the most paranoid criminals on Coruscant looked ready to start a fight in the middle of The Velvet Fang.

This night just kept getting better and better.

​

Mikhail Shorn

 

[Mikhail Shorn]

The urge to roll his eyes at her words, her attempt to empathize, flashed through him. But he didn’t. Because the truth was he could still hear the screaming if he closed his eyes. Still feel the sheer malevolence pervading every particle of his existence.

As if she cared.

As if any of them cared.

He had been left to rot there by all his so called allies. No one even attempted to bring him back. But he would bet every aurodium coin on Nar Shaddaa that they still brought Kaine Zambrano, or Ashin, or Jared, or any of the others.

Not him though.

Hate made his lips twitch and his eyes flash like sunlight off a glacier. It stayed there, roiling in his chest.

She had leaned away from him, but Mikhail could feel her unease. The way her pulse raced, thready and rapid. The way those verdant irises couldn’t quite hold his gaze.

“Me? Oh a little business…”

His brazen stare rolled down her frame, tracing the lines of her face and neck.

“…a little pleasure.”

He smiled tightly, “This place has something I want.”

The gangster in the corner remained ignored.

For now.

Katarine Ryiah

 

[Katarine Ryiah]

"I want to walk in the open wind."
​

“Anything I can do to help?” The offer came without thinking as she picked her drink back up, realized her hand was shaking too much and put it back down. If she didn’t get a grip on herself quickly her cover was going to be blown wide open.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes again. “If not don’t let me keep you. I’m sure you are very busy.” Was she imagining the hurt in her voice at the thought of dismissing him so quickly? Probably not. Pathetic. Get a grip on yourself.

She opened her eyes and glanced back in the mirror, and with a jolt realized Zane was making his way over to the other end of the bar. This time she really did groan.



Mikhail Shorn

 

[Mikhail Shorn]

Mikhail’s raven brows drew together sharply at the way her hand shook and her voice… something was off. When she groaned he looked out at the club and saw the source of her angst.

A gangster. Looked like he ran the show. Maybe he would know where they were hiding it, Mikhail thought, thinking to the source of his search and the reason he’d entered this place at all.

“Who is this loser?” Mikhail asked, loud enough for the man to hear.

“You lost, pretty boy?” Replied Zane with a sneer of his own. “This bar is for bikers only, get out.”

Mikhail’s lips twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Leave? I just got here” Shorn looked at Katarine. “I think I’ll stay.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” said Zane, then he pulled out a blaster pistol and pointed it at Mikhail, “So I’d have an excuse to put a big glob of plasma through your smug mouth.”

The Dark Side swirled around Mikhail, gathering into him like a rushing tide - enough raw power that it made his skin tingle and set his hair on end. It had been so long since he’d been able to use the Force like this. It was intoxicating.

“Katarine, I think your buddy is about to shoot me.”

Katarine Ryiah

 

[Katarine Ryiah]

"I want to talk like lovers do"
​

Not good. Katarine could feel the darkside strengthening and to her it was like lighting a death stick right next to a spice addict. If that was not bad enough she found herself genuinely protective over Mikhail.

“Zane, Mikhail is cool. He’s a friend from my old swoop days.”

“Yea? Well I don’t like the way he’s looking at you.”

“Zane…don’t be like that. can you just give us a second? We were just saying goodbye.”

She slid off her bar stool and pulled Mikhail with sudden strength, tugging him away from the bar. Also a bad idea. The second she touched him she felt a rush of dizziness and stumbled, letting him go and catching herself on a booth.

“Alright Snarky how do I get rid of you?” She hissed, her eyes closed, praying she wasn’t going to collapse, or worse throw herself at him.

Mikhail Shorn

 

[Mikhail Shorn]

Defusing the tension was what Jedi were supposed to do. Small wonder she excelled at it. But clearly this Zane thought she was someone else. Definitely not Jedi Master Katarine Ryiah.

Warmth on his arm as she pulled him away. A strange sensation like electricity tingled up his arm where she touched him. Mikhail frowned.

Huh. That was new.

Then she stumbled away from him and caught herself on a booth. Mikhail cocked his head and closed the distance between them again.

“That’s the fun part, Kitkat… you don’t.” He bopped her on the nose with his fingertip.

“These swoop bikers have something that belongs to me. Or they know where it is. I need it-“

He cut off. Her breathing seemed oddly labored, her eyes still unable to meet his own.

“-are you about to faint?”

Katarine Ryiah

 

[Katarine Ryiah]

"Want to dive into your ocean."
​

Katarine groaned and pushed herself as far against the booth as she could, trying for as much distance as possible. The music of the club sounded like it was coming from underwater, but his voice was sharp in her mind, smooth as sin and inviting.

“What do they have? I’ll help you get it.” Messed up priorities already. It was starting. She held her breath, tried to count to ten slowly, just like the drunks do. Too bad there was no ten step program for this.

He asked if she was about to faint and she winced. “Probably just had too much to drink. Bit of a lush you know.”

Sadly alcohol was not the woman’s drug of choice.


Mikhail Shorn

 

[Mikhail Shorn]

“Right, and I’m having tea with Joshua Dragonsflame tomorrow,” he rolled his eyes.

He rested a hand on the edge of the booth and leaned closer. Nowhere for her to run now. Those pale blue eyes dug into her like daggers of ice.

“I’m not an idiot, Kat.”

His eyes narrowed.

“But whatever. I’ll tell you mine, then you’ll tell me yours.”

He grimaced.

“I’m looking for the Soulsaber. Nice lightsaber, big dragon head emitter, crazy purple and black blade. Can’t miss it. These guys have it somewhere. I think they’re worshipping it or something. Freaks.”

Sniffing in disgust as he glanced over at the gangsters, then back to her.

Leaning even closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear he asked in a whisper, “So why’s a Jedi getting drunk in a bar with a gang of murdering swoop bikers? Or should I just ask them how they know Jedi Master Katarine Ryiah?”

Katarine Ryiah

 

[Katarine Ryiah]

"Is it raining with you?"
​

Katarine felt herself whimper as he got closer, her voice so soft and weak. The dizziness was overpowering. Why was she here again? Frak why did he smell so good? Wait what were they talking about?

“Soulsaber? Yea.. Zane has it.” Why did she tell him that? Did the galaxy need another powerfully armed Sith in it?

His lips brushed her ear and she felt her heart stutter. Maybe she could just have one hit.. and then get back on the wagon tomorrow? No. Focus Katarine.

She bit her lip so hard it bled and shook her head when he threatened to blow her cover.

“I’m undercover, tracking a killer. They think I’m a groupie. “

She heard Zane clear his throat loudly.

​

“I’ll get your saber. Then you leave…” she whimpered again and tired to open her eyes against the dizziness to look at him.

Mikhail Shorn

 

[Mikhail Shorn]

Mikhail pulled back far enough to look her in the eyes. Green. Like a forest, or an emerald. Hm. He’d died in a forest once. It was oddly peaceful. So was looking into those depths.

Too bad.

Reaching up, he squeezed her cheeks with a hand. A smirk curled up the corner of his mouth.

“Good girl,” Mikhail whispered, then let her go and turned around… back to Zane.

He did not know why she seemed affected by his presence. And at the moment, he didn’t care. He wanted his lightsaber back.

“Yoo-hoo, Zany boy,” Mikhail traipsed in the gangster’s direction. “You have something of mine.”

The gangster growled and upholstered his pistol again. “Last warning, bud. Leave.”

Mikhail tsked. “That’s no way to treat a guest.”

He made a fist with one hand and the barrel of the pistol in Zane’s hand crumpled, twisting to point down. The other Dragons reacted predictably, swearing and reaching for their guns. But Mikhail didn’t need any of them.

The glass behind the bar shattered into a thousand shards that he sent flying toward them. Meat shredded. People screamed. Gouts of blood painted the walls and floor.

Zane took a step back. “Who- who are you?”

Mikhail walked toward him, a cruel expression twisting his face, “Me? I’m just a dead man walking.”

Katarine Ryiah

 

[Katarine Ryiah]

"So, baby, talk to me."
​

She was half ready to hyperventilate when the Force screamed a warning at her. A second latter chaos erupted. The adrenaline cleared her head faster than anything, but she was too slow to stop the mirror from the bar exploding and killing several of the gang members.

For two seconds there seemed to be a pause, and then the club goers screamed and pandemonium broke out.

“Are you insane?!?” Why were Sith so impatient? It would have taken her five minutes to find the wretched saber and give it to him, but now there was going to be gang retaliation, her cover was as good as dead, and she was going to be stuck explaining this mess of bodies to the Jedi Council.

Perfect.

“What do you want?” Zane sounded scared, Kat couldn’t blame him.

“ Don’t hurt anybody else! I’ll take you to it.”

She glared and him and turned towards the stairs, trying to push her way through the panicked mob of dancers who were clamoring to take cover or get out of the club.



Mikhail Shorn

 

[Mikhail Shorn]

“Ugh really?”

Mikhail held his arms out to either side and turned around in the chaos of the bar. Bodies littered the floor. One of the Dragons was whimpering as he pulled himself across the stage, apparently still alive despite the half dozen shards of glass. Though he left a smeared trail of red behind him.

“They’re animals, Kat, nobody is going to miss them. But fine, have it your way.”

Mikhail flicked a finger and Zane went flying across the room, slammed into a wall, and then slid down into a slump.

“Don’t move.”

He was probably still alive.

Probably.

Mikhail sighed and followed Katarine Ryiah down a corridor to a back room. His lips curled in disgust at the state of the place.

“Not exactly the cleanest bunch huh. Alright, where is it?”

Katarine Ryiah

 

[Katarine Ryiah]

"Like lovers do."
​

“It’s not them I’m worried about! Did you stop to think for one second what is going to happen when they send out an alert that there are two unidentified Force users down here?”

She glared daggers at him, as they walked down the hallway. “Maybe the Sith will be happy to see you here but they sure as hell won’t be happy to see me. ” She couldn’t take him in a duel, let alone him and five friends.

There was now a ticking time bomb on her head, and a death warrant practically signed, but despite that instead of running in terror she was leading him further into the dragons den to get a damn lightsaber.

Bravo judgment Katarine. Really spectacular. She cursed inside her head. They reached a bedroom at the end of the hall, which was locked but Katarine kicked the door in.

“It’s in that.” She pointed to a wooden lock box sitting on an ornate table. There were markings all over the box, supposedly runes to keep people out but she wasn’t sure if that was a load of rubbish or not.

A second latter her comm unit lit up with local enforcement chatter. Red alert at the Velvet Fang.

“If I survive this Mikhail Shorn I am going to hunt you down and kick your ass!” She was seething as she went to the window and peered out, wondering how much time she had.


Mikhail Shorn

 

[Mikhail Shorn]

Mikhail’s breath sawed in and out of his chest as he reached for the box. The runes protected the saber’s strength from seeping through save the barest tendrils of hideous stygian energy. He remembered the taste of the power the Soulsaber held. Raw and unfiltered. Mikhail licked his lips and seized the box, tucking it under one arm for now.

He would open it later. As much as he wanted to rip it out of the box… it would draw other Sith to him like flies.

“Love to see you try,” he snickered.

The Sith glanced out the window. “What? You’re really worried about the people who run this planet now?” He snorted.

“Please.”

He cracked his neck. “Between the two of us they wouldn’t stand a chance… but if you’re that worried about it, I’ll help you get out of here. I guess it’s the least I can do. And I love making a habit out of doing the bare minimum. Do you have a safe house?”

Katarine Ryiah

 

[Katarine Ryiah]

"Walk with me.”​

"Love to see you try,"​

“It’s a date then.” She growled, still looking out the window. It was remarkably easy to be mad at him when he was on the other side of the room, but she knew that wouldn’t last.

He scoffed at the idea of the other Sith, claiming that the two of them could handle it. She snorted and looked at him incredulously. “In case you missed it back there I’ve got a problem with the darkside. Trust me I’d be next to useless against your peers.”

He offered to help her get out of there and as much as she knew continued contact with him was a bad idea, running into a group of Sith alone was a worse one.

“Yes I do. It’s North in the red light district.” She sighed and motioned for him to follow her, back through the hallway and out the side exit she so should have used earlier.

​

Mikhail Shorn

 

[Mikhail Shorn]

“First you’re getting drunk in a swoop bike bar, now you’re telling me you have a place in the red light?” Mikhail clicked his tongue as he followed her out the door and down the hallway.

“Kitkat, just what kind of Jedi are you?”

As they moved out into the main bar area and the scene of the carnage again, Mikhail grabbed a lighter from the bar top with his free hand as he passed. He played with the light, flicking it on and off.

“Hate the aesthetic of this place by the way.”

Before they exited the door he tossed the lighter back over his shoulder. A nudge of telekinesis made it land perfectly on a pool of spilled liquor on the countertop. It ignited immediately.

“A real tinderbox.”

Katarine Ryiah