Private Just Another Day (Or So It Seems)

[Senna Lonis]

Senna Lonis let the sterilizer hiss closed, the familiar burn of sanitizer in the air like a second skin. Her arms were already aching, her fingers wrapped tight in synth gloves, but her shift had only just begun. The clinic lights above buzzed faintly—never quite off, never quite soothing—and as she stepped past the durasteel threshold into the main care room, the familiar scent of bacta, disinfectant, and recycled air swirled around her like a cloak.

"Clocked in," she muttered, pressing her thumb to the checkpoint. The wall-mounted console chirped its bland confirmation. She didn't bother suppressing the sigh that followed.

The waiting area was full. Again. Locals with half-healed wounds, stim junkies hoping for sedatives, a Rodian child with a terrible cough clinging to his mother's scarf. One of the older nurses passed her a datapad with a full rotation of patients, and Senna just nodded.

Here we go again.

She moved like muscle memory—clean, assess, bandage, soothe. A small knife wound from a turf scuffle. A concussion from a fall on a broken hoverwalk. A spice overdose, nearly comatose, jaw twitching with the bitter shadow of withdrawal. She administered a detox stim and slid a thin blanket over the shivering form. The woman was already forgotten by the city, but not by Senna.

I should've slept more, she thought vaguely as she rinsed out a tray of surgical tools. Her reflection looked pale, eyes sunken. She hadn't slept well in weeks. The city's hum below her tiny apartment window always whispered possibilities.

And yet… nothing.

She hadn't donned the mask or the cloak in nearly nine days. Nine dull, aching, uneventful days.

No one screamed in the alleys.
No one chased her into the shadows.
No one needed to be saved.

Maybe I'm losing my edge.

She caught herself zoning out by the sterilizer again, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement. No monsters tonight, no corrupt enforcers, no cries echoing from the dead sectors.

Just aching joints, bacta gel, and recycled caf.

"Senna!" one of the interns called. "Exam 3's ready for you!"

"Coming," she said, rubbing the back of her neck as she trudged toward the room. Her boots made a soft scuffing sound on the plastcrete floors.

Inside, a young man sat on the exam table. Covered in road rash, knuckles split raw. His face was vaguely familiar. One of the hoverboard courier gangs. Senna gave him a glance and a tired smirk.

"Did the pavement win again?"

The kid chuckled sheepishly. "Sort of. Got clipped by some guys from Downbay. They didn't like that I crossed into their turf."

She tsked and began cleaning his wounds. As she worked, her thoughts drifted again.

All this training. All this power. And I'm using it to patch up skinned elbows and scrapped egos.

The clinic lights flickered once. Then again.

She blinked and looked up.

The lights steadied.

The kid noticed too. "That's been happening all day," he muttered. "They said someone's been messing with the grid under Sector Twelve. Power drain or something."

Senna's fingers froze on the gauze.

"Sector Twelve?"

"Yeah," he said. "Word is a whole utility tunnel caved in last week. No one knows why."

Something cold itched at the back of her neck.

She finished bandaging him in silence, but her mind was no longer in the room.

The lights buzzed overhead again. A single strobe, then darkness—then back.

Maybe tonight won't be so boring after all.

Senna stood, peeled off her gloves, and stared at the far wall of the clinic as if it might speak to her.

Because something had shifted in the hum of the city.

Tag: Acier Moonbound

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Nar Shaddaa

Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27

Another bounty hunter had found him. And another one had been dealt with. His training had made him capable of handling them now and Acier didn't fear being found by them anymore. But, this was starting to become a nuisance. It seemed since he returned to the wider galaxy, more and more found him.​

​

He'd have to deal with Tessk eventually. But now? He tredged his way toward the nearest clinic, his breathing was shallow - it may have been a cracked rib. He wasn't sure. But every breath he took? It hurt.​

​

He ducked through the steam-choked alleys of lower Nar Shaddaa, wrists brushing the walls as each breath pierced his lungs. He hated this place, but he needed to be here. The city's pulse was irregular, you could feel it in your bones. Something was off. More so now that his connection to the Force was stronger.

A flicker of neon ahead offered direction: The Meridian Vault. The clinic where information and healing traded hands. Where his kind of broken had found refuge. The door slid open with his presence, Ace's boots scuffing the plastcrete floor as he wandered inside.

The clinic smelled of sanitizer and recycled air. Eyes glanced up from a terminal. Someone behind the counter looked ready to speak, but Ace lifted a hand first.

"I'm not dying," he said, voice dry, low. "Just… moderately broken."

He scanned the room, and his eyes caught on someone moving between exam rooms - dark hair, violet eyes, precision in every motion. He didn't know her, not personally. But he knew the look. Not just a medic. Not just a street doc. Something deeper. His instincts flared, not in warning, just in recognition. Like something had brushed past the edge of his awareness.

It was the Force, it swirled around her like it did him. Looks like it was happening again, the Cosmic Force had put him on a collision course with another person touched by it. Ace returned his attention to the person behind the counter

"Name's Acier," he said, keeping his voice casual but steady. "Cracked rib, maybe two. I'd rather not cough blood in the street."

Senna Lonis
​

 

[Senna Lonis]

Senna was semi- into her shift, and the auto-injector had jammed again. Her finger was still sore from trying to fix the damn cartridge. The medbay smelled like low-grade synth-coffee and plastoid gloves, and her datapad was blinking with three incomplete charts and a flagged vitals alert from a droid that always overreacted to fevers.


"I'm going to rip my own brain out with these gloves," she muttered, tugging a stubborn fingertip free.


"Don't you dare," came Jorra's voice from the reception desk, feet propped up, her shiny prosthetic boot tapping lightly against a drawer. "That brain's on contract. I still owe NarComp twenty more shifts of your beautiful rage."


Senna gave her a look. "Don't tempt me."


The clinic doors slid open with a tired hiss.


Senna didn't even glance up at first. Probably another kid from the lower docks with spice rot or a blister from heat tape. But then she felt it—quiet, just under the noise. A nudge in the air. Not pushy, but enough to lift her head.


Someone was standing at intake.


Senna stepped to the edge of the hallway and leaned, catching a glimpse of the patient.


Tall. Maybe mid-thirties? Dirty jacket. Black. Stiff in the shoulders, like it hurt to breathe. Hair tousled. Dried blood. Not from Nar Shaddaa—not really. Not a regular.

Jorra blinked twice before straightening in her chair. "Well, stars. You ever seen someone stand like they just walked out of an action serial?"

Senna didn't answer.

She watched as the man slowly approached the desk. Not limping, but definitely not fine. Every step looked weighed down—like he'd done this before, and recently.

Jorra cleared her throat and tapped his stylus. "You good, Senna? Got a walking bruise here asking for med attention with his eyes."

Senna nodded, taking the slate Jorra handed her.

Room 2. The quiet one with reinforced walls.

She turned and gestured. Paranoia born of survival. She knew the look.

She opened the exam room door and stepped aside.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Nar Shaddaa

Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27

He didn't need the Force to recognize a pattern when he saw one. The way the receptionist straightened. The shift in the room's rhythm. The slight pause from the woman in the hallway. The weight in the air had changed, not tension, not danger. Just... vigilance.

As she waved him toward Room 2, he didn't question it. Paranoia recognized paranoia. Ace walked with that practiced stillness that came from years of moving through places that hated you alive. Every step was deliberate, silent, controlled. Minus the twinge in his side each time his ribs reminded him he wasn't invincible.

"Reinforced walls." he murmured, eyes flicking to the frame. "That for rowdy patients, or just bad memories?" No accusation in his tone. Just dry curiosity.

He stepped past her and into the room, exhaling shallowly as the door hissed shut behind them. The lighting here was lower. Acier sat himself down on the edge of the exam table, wincing as he took his jacket and shirt off. Despite the large purple bruising and the swelling, there was definition beneath the layers - lean muscle carved from survival, training, and a body that hadn't had the luxury of softness in years. The kind of strength that didn't ask for attention, but made itself known anyway.

"Acier Moonbound." he said, introducing himself quietly. "Not on any wanted lists... for bad reasons, anyway. Not worth your time at least. Just need a patch up and I'll be out your hair."

His gaze flicked toward her, meeting hers with guarded ease. He scanned the woman, her gloves, her posture. She wasn't just some healer on Nar Shaddaa. She was... something deeper, if that even made sense. Something trained.

"What's going on with Sector 12? It's like I've felt some kind of shift."

In the months since his training began, Ace had become more confident, bold. A few months ago, he'd have given her a fake name or made his connection to the Force so obvious. But now? He wasn't afraid of who knew. Confident he'd be able to handle whatever came his way. He was a Verd by blood after all.

Senna Lonis
​

 

[Senna Lonis]

Senna didn't flinch when he spoke.

She'd already caught the way his eyes had swept the clinic, tracking weak points and exits like someone who couldn't help it. Or someone trained not to. He didn't act like the other bruised and bleeding wanderers who wandered in, swagger-first, desperate second. No ego. Just weariness and observation.

Her gloves made a soft snap as she pulled them tighter. "This room's for the ones who bite," she answered coolly, picking up the scanner wand. "And sometimes the ones who bleed too much."

She started the scan.

Two cracked ribs. Swelling. A fracture that had been ignored too long. She didn't say a word, not about the bruising or the faint burn scar along his shoulder or the fact that his resting pulse was unnaturally steady for someone in pain.

He offered a name—Acier Moonbound. She didn't write it down. Not yet.

"You don't seem like the rowdy type," she said, voice neutral. "But I've been wrong before."

She saw how he looked at her. Curious. Measured. As if she were being filed under a category in his mind. But Senna didn't slow her movements.

When he asked about Sector 12, though—her rhythm caught.

Just briefly.

"Why?" she asked, more sharply than she intended. She cleared her throat. "That's warehouse district. Usually quiet unless someone stirs up the Nihil-leaning gangs. You feel something shift?"

Her tone was casual, but her mind was already running through rumors. The dark graffiti near the sublevels. The missing tech couriers. The cantina owner who claimed he saw a wraith walk through his kitchen walls two nights ago.

The Force had been quiet lately. But not absent.

She finished sealing the compress to his ribs, stepping back, peeling her gloves off and folding them neatly into the bio-disposal tray.

"You don't seem like the type to just 'feel' things without reason," she said, looking him dead in the eye. "So tell me, Acier Moonbound… what exactly are you picking up over there?"

Her voice lowered, not accusatory—but not soft, either. The kind of voice that had learned to toe the line between street-level skepticism and something sharper. Older.

Outside the exam room, Jorra's chair squeaked faintly. The sound was far away.

Inside the room, the silence between them stretched—thick with unspoken truths.

Senna didn't break her gaze.

Something was coming. She could feel it in her spine now. Like a ripple.

But what form it would take?

That… depended on his next move.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Nar Shaddaa

Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27

Ace didn't mind the silence. Most people filled quiet with bravado or bleeding hearts. Not her. She moved like someone who counted words carefully, and only when necessary. It was something he valued.

The white-haired young man watched as she worked. She was precise and clinical, but not lacking in warmth. Well, she wasn't cold at least. She'd clocked everything: his pulse, the old scar, the way he scanned the room. She didn't say it, but he knew. The nurse was observant, like him. Cute too.

When she pegged him as not a rowdy type, he let a flicker of a smile cross his face. Just a twitch of the mouth, dry and understated.

"Rowdy tends to find me." he murmured.

And then the moment passed. She finished sealing the compress to his ribs and stepped back. Ace winced and tilted his head slightly, eyeing the gear in her hands.

"You couldn't just hit me with a stim?" he asked, a little sharper than intended. Not aggressive... just a note of impatience fraying through the pain. "I mean… isn't that what they're for?"

The moment it left his mouth, he realized how dumb it probably sounded. He wasn't the one with medical training here, she was. She obviously used the compress for a reason.

When he asked about Sector Twelve, something shifted in the nurse. He filed it away. When she asked what he was picking up, her voice dropped, not soft, but sharpened with experience. The kind where this clinic work wasn't her primary activity. Her question wasn't casual.

"I don't get feelings for no reason. Especially now." he said. "And I definitely don't go chasing warehouse districts in the middle of the night just for the hell of it."

Something had called him here, just like the echo back on Denon when he met Aadihr Lidos . This felt different to that though. If so, he'd wished Aadihr would've been here to guide him through it. Cleansing or... whatever they did, doing that alone? He wasn't sure if he was ready for that yet.

"There's something under the grid," he continued. "Not gang movement. Not street noise. Something older. I've felt echoes before. Places where the Force lingers. But this wasn't memory. Or grief. Or death."

He glanced at her, deep brown eyes almost peering into hers. Ace's face was a mix of concern, but also curiosity.

"It felt hungry."

Senna Lonis
​

 

[Senna Lonis]

Senna let out a breath through her nose — not quite a scoff, not quite a sigh — and finally moved to the small sink near the medkit wall, rinsing her hands more out of habit than need.

A stim, huh?

"You think stims are magic," she said over her shoulder, reaching for a clean towel. "They're not. They spike your system, mask the pain, and make idiots think they're invincible. You want to rupture a lung trying to look cool walking out of here?"

She glanced at him — his wince, his posture, the shirt still half-folded in his lap. "Didn't think so."

But her voice wasn't harsh anymore. It had a touch of something dry and amused under the surface. Teasing. Like a teacher gently swatting a cocky student without bruising the ego.

She leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. "Besides, I'm out of the good ones. You want glitterstim, go get in a bar fight with the Black Spires. I hear they hand it out as party favors."

The corner of her mouth tugged upward. Barely. But it was there.

Then came his "it felt hungry."

That wiped the smile.

Her arms dropped slowly to her sides, and she studied him in a way that wasn't entirely polite. Not rude, just… measuring. Like she was lining up a memory with what stood in front of her now.

"You're not wrong," she said softly. "There's something shifting in the grid."

She didn't add I've felt it too. That would be too easy. Too revealing. But the shadows around her eyes said it.

"I've worked on this moon a long time," she added. "Seen gang wars, Sith remnants, spice cartels pretending to be cults—hell, one time I patched up a Rodian who swore his toaster was possessed by a Sith holocron."

She pushed off the counter and walked slowly back toward him, not with authority, but like someone who'd made a decision.

"This isn't that. It's not street madness. It's colder. Lower." She paused. "Some of the local rats are going missing. Literally—ratcatchers are saying whole nests are gone, melted out. Like they ran from something."

She reached into the cabinet and pulled out a small spray canister, handing it to him.

"Keep that on you. Nerve blocker. Won't stop something big, but if you're dealing with Force echoes, it might buy you enough time to breathe and run."

Then, more gently, "And next time you feel something that deep? Don't go in alone. Even Jedi get eaten."

A beat passed.

"You are Jedi, right?" she added, tilting her head. "Or just one of those handsome disaster types who pick up sabers and dramatic instincts like they're fashion trends."

This time, she definitely smiled.

It was quick, crooked, and slipped away as fast as it came — but it was real.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Nar Shaddaa

Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27

Ace blinked in surprise. It had been a while since he was truly caught off-guard like that. He offered her a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"You callin' me handsome or a disaster?" he paused "Yeah, don't answer that."

The nerve blocker sat cool in his hand. He turned it over once, inspecting it like he half-expected it to bite. The idea of needing to use this for some kind of Force echo was... concerning to say the least. Rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes met hers again.

"Nah, I'm not a Jedi." he answered plainly "Just a guy who knows a few tricks of the trade. You?"

In the time it took her to answer, whether she even decided to or not. Ace grabbed his black shirt and threw it back over his body before grabbing his sleveless teal jacket and wrapping it around himself. Still, the weight in his chest wasn't just bruised bone.

"That echo," he muttered, more to himself than to her, "It didn't just brush past me. It... noticed me. I've felt impressions before... pain, memory, grief. But this was different. It felt like something was waiting. And it didn't care if I was Jedi or not."

He didn't look at her when he said it. Just stared ahead at the clinic wall, like whatever was behind it hadn't stopped watching. It was barely a moment before Ace hifted his weight forward and slid off the exam table with a sharp exhale. His boots hit the plastcrete floor harder than he meant them to, but he straightened anyway, jaw tight and movements deliberate.

He was still hurting, but committed. Rolling his shoulder, Ace cast the nurse a sideways glance.

"So let me get this straight…" he said, voice dry. "You clock the Force echo, admit something's off in Sector Twelve, hand me a glorified panic button… and send me on my way?"

Ace was smirking, letting her know this was all in good fun.

"Can't even get a name first?"

Senna Lonis
​

 

[Senna Lonis]

Senna paused mid-step as he dropped that last line. The "Can't even get a name first?" cracked through her clinical armor like a vibroblade through butter.

She blinked, then let out a half-huffed breath that was either an embarrassed laugh or a self-directed groan. It didn't matter. Her composure was already wobbling.

"Right. Sorry," she said quickly, pulling off one glove and awkwardly gesturing toward herself. "Senna. Senna Lonis. I usually… introduce myself before handing out potentially dangerous sedatives and Force-sensing nerve blockers, I promise."

She winced at her own words.

Her fingers fidgeted at the hem of her sleeve before she shoved her hand into the pocket of her medical tunic and forced a smile. It came out too tight. Her voice, when she spoke again, was hurried, a little too high, and dripping with an undercurrent of oh stars, I'm doing it again.

"I get... twitchy. Not all the time, just when something's off. And lately, it's like the air in Sector Twelve is static-charged. Like it's waiting for someone to touch a doorknob and—zap—suddenly you're halfway across the system with your brain scrambled. So, sorry if I seemed nervous. I mean—I am nervous. Clearly. But not, like, 'you' nervous. Just, you know, 'existential unease in the face of possible subterranean malevolent Force echoes' kind of nervous."

She bit down on her lower lip, catching herself.

Stars, what was she doing? Why was she babbling like a schoolgirl with a crush at a spice café?

She glanced at Ace again.

Oh. That's why.

Because of the jawline. And the voice. And the eyes. And the fact that he looked like he could smirk his way through a blaster fight while bleeding out and still probably win. Her brain was clearly fried. Completely fried. She hadn't even had caf.

"Anyway," she said quickly, snapping herself back into some form of composure, "I don't usually suggest people go toward creepy Force disturbances, but if you're serious about looking into it, I... could help. If you wanted."

She glanced toward the wall, then back to him.

"I know the tunnels. Back entrances. Maintenance lines. Stuff the gangs don't touch. If whatever's down there is older, it'll be near the old foundation lines. And I know those better than anyone."

Pause.

Beat.

"I mean, not better than anyone ever—just… you know, locally."

Another beat. Her eyes widened slightly as if she were silently yelling at herself.

"I'm gonna stop talking now," she added, with the weary dignity of someone who had officially lost a mental war with her own brain.

Still—despite herself—she smiled. A real one this time. Small. Soft. Honest.

And maybe, just maybe, a little hopeful.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Nar Shaddaa

Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27

The snowy-haired young man blinked, watching as the initially prim and proper woman was now tripping over her words. The medic who'd just sealed his ribs and handed him a nerve blocker was now giving him an anxiety spiral about Force ghosts and static-charged doorknobs. Instead of smirking, he raised a brow. After a moment, it lowered and he offered her a faint smile.

"Nice to meet you, Senna." he said, crossing his arms over "For what it's worth, existential dread suits you."

His tone was teasing, but it was wrapped up in warmth. The silence hung for a moment, Ace tucked the nerve blocker into one of the pouches in the leg of his jumpsuit. He took a few steps, nearly brushing her shoulder as he passed her. Stopping just short of the doorway.

"Not gonna lie. I did plan on going down there alone. Easier to move, less people to worry about, y'know?" his head turned to face her "But if you're serious about this, and you know your way around...?"

He turned away again. Shrugging in a way that conveyed acceptance of her assistance. He didn't say anything else at first, he waited for her to do whatever it was she needed to do to prepare. In that time, he replayed the previous events.

There was something about her. Senna. Not just the medic precision of the Force intuition. It was the way she tripped over herself but carried on anyway. That weird, nervous ramble about ghost rats and static doors should have made him roll his eyes. Instead, he found it endearing... strangely. She was smart, and somehow both confident and awkward at the same time. Easy on the eyes too.

But then the old instinct creeped in - You don't know what you're doing. A lifetime of only receiving scraps of affection, or transactional care tended to do that to people.

Romance? Girls? May as well had been another language entirely. Ace never had time for it, nor let anyone get close. Not on Bonadan. Since then? He'd opened up a little to the few odd people, but to make room for the kind of vulnerability romance implied? He shuddered at the thought.

So instead, Ace flexed his fingers and glanced down at his charcoal colored boots. Pretending nothing like physical attraction was stirring inside him.

Clearing his throat, he turned to face Senna "You ready?" he asked.

Senna Lonis
​

 

[Senna Lonis]

Senna's cheeks warmed as his teasing warmth settled over her like a soft glow. She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and cleared her throat, folding her arms almost exactly how he had.

"Right," she said, voice quieter now, but steady. "I—I mean it. I'm serious. I know this moon's guts better than most, and I've been itching for something beyond stubbed toes and spice rot to occupy me." She offered a sheepish smile. "Plus… I've always wanted an excuse to actually investigate something."

Glancing at her kit and the half-finished charts on her datapad, she shook her head. "But I have to close up for the day. The night crew's coming in, and Jorra will kill me if I ghost her before I hand off the shift."

She tapped a datapad icon. "Meet me outside in ten minutes? There's a service hatch around the back—Sector Twelve's grid lines run right beneath it. We can slip in there. After that, we'll see if the rats really are running scared, or if something else is hunting them."

She hesitated, then tucked a loose strand of hair behind her other ear. "Look, I—I can't quite explain why, but there's something about this… and something about you." She bit her lip, then squared her shoulders. "Alright, enough mush. I'll see you out front."

With that, she turned and strode toward the reception area, already drafting an excuse in her head for Jorra—"emergency data purge," "unexpected system audit," something convincing. Inside, her heart raced. This was it—her chance to go beyond healing wounds and step into the shadows of Nar Shaddaa's deeper mysteries. And, she admitted to herself with an inward smile, she was more than a little curious where this partnership might lead.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Nar Shaddaa

Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27

Ace watched her go, posture squared, voice steady, datapad already tapped like she was scrubbing her nerves clean with a task. He didn't say anything right away. Just stood in the now-quiet clinic room, the ghost of her voice still hanging there.

"--there's something about this… and something about you."

His brow knit slightly. That… was new. No one really noticed him like that, not like Senna just had. Ace exhaled slowly, then glanced toward the door she disappeared through. Then he made his way outside.

The Nar Shaddaa night greeted him with its usual grime and glow. Neon flickered like nervous twitches in the dark. Somewhere, a speeder screamed overhead, but Ace barely registered it. He leaned against the wall near the clinic, arms crossed. Outwardly still, inwardly… unsettled. Not by the mission, but by her.

Senna Lonis. The rambling medic with the steady hands and Force-sensitive instincts. She'd patched him up like it was nothing, then tripped over herself like she hadn't been the sharpest person in the room a minute ago. And for some reason… he couldn't stop thinking about her.

It wasn't romantic. He wasn't imagining futures or sunsets or anything that soft. But her mouth, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the shape of her shoulders when she crossed her arms just like he had. It was distracting. Too distracting. And Ace hated that he noticed.

He wasn't used to this. Not attraction. Not like this. Not where it made his chest tighten and his brain stumble. He'd never really thought about girls much, not in that way. Never had the space. Never felt the spark. And now? It felt like his body had just decided this was going to be a thing without consulting the rest of him.

Was this hormones? Just… delayed teenage nonsense finally catching up? He hoped not. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and looked down at his boots like they might have answers. It didn't matter. He'd push it aside. Just like he did with everything else.

Ten minutes. Sector Twelve. Whatever this thing was tugging at his focus... he'd deal with it later. Right now, he had work to do.

Senna Lonis
​

 

[Senna Lonis]

Senna slipped back into her dormitory–style locker room and snagged the oversized street jacket she'd stashed earlier. She yanked her hair into a loose ponytail, wiped the last streak of sanitizer from her face, and tugged on dark trousers and scuffed boots that felt more at home in the alleyways than her clinic scrubs ever did.


Ten minutes later she pushed through the clinic's side door just as the neon haze swallowed her silhouette. Jorra stood at the desk, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched.


"You sure you don't want to finish your shift?" she asked, half-jealous, half-reluctant.


Senna offered a breezy shrug and a crooked grin. "Emergency data audit on the holonet. Something about missing cred transfers. You know how Republic systems are."


Jorra squinted at her, then sighed. "Fine. But you owe me two extra shifts next week."


"Yes, ma'am," Senna chirped, teeth flashing. "Don't have to remind me."


With that, she slipped past Jorra and into the night.

---

Ace was still leaning against the clinic wall when she found him, the neon reflecting off his pale hair.

Senna smoothed the front of her jacket and met his eyes with a sheepish grin. "I figured street clothes would blend better than hospital whites."


She cleared her throat. "About Sector Twelve—here's what I'm thinking." She drew him a quick holomap projection in mid‑air with her datapad: the old service hatch, the network of maintenance tunnels beneath cantina row, and the grid lines that buzzed overhead.


"Those utility conduits were built over the original foundation back when Nar Shaddaa was just scavenger camps. If something ancient—like ley‑line echoes of the Force—was tucked into the bedrock, it'd pulse strongest where power conduits intersect. Sector Twelve is one of the few places where they cross under a sealed hatch."


She tapped the map. "And the street‑rat disappearances? They're clustered in the alleys fed by that same tunnel system. If whatever's down there is… hungry, it's using the tunnels as a hunting ground."


She looked up at him, excitement shining in her eyes now that she'd broken it down. "We slip in through the hatch, follow the conduits until we hit the old foundation lines, and then… see what's stirring. Sound good?"


Her heart thudded in her chest—not nerves this time, but that same curious thrill she got whenever she cracked a case. And… whenever she looked at Ace.


"Ready?" she asked, hands tucked in her jacket pockets, grin widening.


Under the flickering neon, they stood side by side, two unlikely allies about to dive into Nar Shaddaa's hidden depths.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Nar Shaddaa

Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27

Ace caught the door before it hissed shut behind her. She stepped into the neon haze like a totally different person. Different jacket. Different posture. But she had the same fire in her eyes. She looked… good. Not just good - sharp. Less clinic, more shadow. Like someone who should be walking into the unknown.​

​

Unfortunately, his brain noticed that too. Along with the rest of her. He crossed his arms to hide the tension building in his shoulders. Was this hormones? Nerves? Some scrambled part of his survival instinct rewriting itself? He didn’t know. And it didn’t matter.​

​

“Not bad.” he said, nodding toward her boots.​

​

He stepped closer to look at the holomap as she projected it, eyes narrowing slightly as the layers unfolded. Hatch, tunnels, conduits, cross-points. Her voice was steady now, confident. The rambling was gone, replaced by precision. Ace respected that.​

​

“Solid theory,” he said. “Conduits like that act like amplifiers. If something’s pulsing down there... Force echo, residual trauma, whatever. It’s riding the current.”​

​

He pointed to the old foundation ring on the map. “That’s probably your origin point. Everything else is noise.”​

​

He clicked his tongue once, thinking. While still a novice to the overall machinations of the Force, he'd trained enough and seen enough to recognize patterns. Or, at the very least make partially educated guesses.​

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“If it’s pulling energy, it might be pulling more than that. People. Rats. Strays. You’re right... it’s hunting.” he met her eyes. “So we stay quiet. Stay moving. If anything echoes back that isn’t us, we cut the feed and fall back.”​

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He let it hang for a moment. Then... softer, and a little more measured:​

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“If you feel anything weird, or a little off, you say something. Don’t wait.”​

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He gave her a small nod, just enough to acknowledge her plan and her presence. Then pushed off the wall and started walking toward the hatch. The streets narrowed as they left the clinic behind. Neon gave way to faulty glowpanels and the soft hum of exposed conduit. Steam hissed from a cracked vent ahead, curling around their boots as they moved deeper into Nar Shaddaa's industrial ribs.​

​

Ace walked a step ahead at first, eyes scanning rooftops, motion sensors, alley mouths. But he didn't speak. He always preferred the quiet. It gave him space to think, and well, feel too. The Force.​

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He kept replaying the map in his mind... those intersecting conduits, the old foundation lines. Something about the way they pulsed… it felt familiar. Not in memory, but in instinct. Like something was vibrating just beneath the floor of his brain.​

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Amplifiers, he'd called them. And maybe that's all they were. But if echoes could be amplified… could they also be fed? His brow furrowed slightly.​

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"Could be a siphon..." he muttered aloud, mostly to himself. "Residual Force trauma, stuck in the grid. Feeding on emotional discharge, leftover energy from the power lines. Like a storm with a pulse."​

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He snickered to himself, he was starting to sound like Aadihr. Theorizing aloud. They walked a few more paces in silence. Eventually, softly, like he wasn't sure if it was okay to ask... Ace spoke again. Words chosen carefully.​

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"You said there was something about me." he glanced over now, just briefly. "What did you mean by that?"​

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There was no playfulness in his tone. No teasing. Just… genuine curiosity. A question from someone who'd never had anyone say something like that to him before, and honestly didn't know how to process it.​

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Senna Lonis​

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