Never Hide Your Heart
We are young
Two Days Ago:
The delivery man set the package on the frost-dusted doorstep of Chrysa's home on Midvinter, his breath curling in pale clouds as he scanned the label for the third time. Inside lay a meticulously drawn map with inked trails and cryptic markings guiding the bearer toward an unidentified object steeped in darkness.
But the strangest part wasn't the map.
The package wasn't addressed to Chrysa at all.
It bore the name Katarine Ryiah, and in bold, unmistakable script, the sender had added a final instruction:
Signature required, recipient must be Connel Vanagor.
Present Day:
Location: Thyferra - Xozhixi
Objective: Meet with Connel and learn about package
Tags:
Connel Vanagor
The noise inside a police station never truly stopped. Comms chirped from cluttered desks, datapads buzzed, caf machines hissed through their eternal brew cycles. Droids rolled past with freshly fingerprinted petty thieves; detectives rubbed at sleepless eyes; lawyers bellowed about civil rights around every corner.
But inside the interrogation room, the soundproofing panels dragged the whole weight of the precinct onto their narrow backs, creating a false pocket of calm. It was the kind of quiet that made the hairs on your neck stand up with an engineered unease meant to knock suspects off balance.
Katarine stood in the middle of that stillness, sharing it with a broad-shouldered detective named Devins. The Xozchixi Police Department had been more willing to tolerate her presence than most, but tension still hung thick. With the Alliance collapsed, there was no true federal authority anymore, and Katarine was left bouncing from jurisdiction to jurisdiction, asking for scraps of cooperation on cold cases. Most officers trusted Jedi the way they trusted a blaster pointed at their spine.
She was used to it. And after months of drifting, she was grateful just to be working again. Thinking had gotten her nowhere; doing, at least, might save lives. Hunting killers was the one thing she'd always been good at.
Devins sat in a hard metal chair across from their suspect who was a large, dark-skinned man with a jagged scar slicing across one eye. Katarine remained standing. At five-foot-two she barely cleared the height of either man even while they sat, but she carried herself like the tallest person in the room. They had been testing the suspect for over an hour: Devins playing reasonable cop, Katarine weaponizing the man's open disdain for women to needle him toward a break.
Beneath Katarine's deep green eyes were shadows of exhaustion which was normal for her. The job consumed her like a wildfire, leaving her nights filled with case files instead of sleep. And this case was particularly brutal: three annihilated families. All trails pointed toward the man in cuffs but only lightly, too lightly for Katarine's taste. Devins insisted they needed a confession for any hope of conviction. So far their suspect wasn't talking about the crime, just everything else.
"I feel shaky," he muttered. "Probably low blood sugar."
Devins straightened and gestured toward the one-way mirror where officers watched. "Can we get him something to eat, please?"
Katarine's palms slammed onto the table before the sentence finished. "You're the reason three grandmothers had to bury their grandchildren this week," she snapped. "You're lucky you're feeling anything below the neck."
His shoulders were as wide as her waist, but Katarine didn't flinch. She leaned in until her nose nearly brushed his, her glare cutting into his bloodshot eyes.
"Ease up," Devins warned. "He can't think straight if he's hungry."
"I don't know what you are on about b!tch."
"Well le tme jog your memory!" She snatched the case file, flipping out the crime scene photos with angles so brutal even seasoned officers hated looking at them. She shoved them toward him.
"Don't show him those!"
"I don't know them people," the suspect muttered.
"You don't recognize your handiwork? Then look closer!" Katarine drove a boot into his chair, shoving him forward, forcing the images into his vision.
"NO!" His cuffed arm swept across the table, sending the photos skittering across the floor. He dropped his head into his hands like a child refusing homework.
Katarine crouched, gathered the photos, and headed for the door. A moment later the lock buzzed open.
"RYIAH!" Devins shot to his feet and followed her into the observation room. "Where the hell are you going? We need him to talk!"
"He didn't do it."
Devins blinked. "What are you talking about?"
"The man we're looking for is a sexual sadist. A man like that would relish looking at these. This guy couldn't even glance at them."
"Listen, Jedi." Devins jabbed a finger her way. "I know how to interrogate a perp. This guy beat three of his ex-girlfriends half to death. He's violent."
"Yes," she agreed calmly. "He's an abusive, biggoted nerf. But he's not a sexual sadist."
"Do you hear how stupid you sound?"
"I can't hear anything over your loud mouth."
"That's enough, both of you."
The chief had arrived, jaw set like durasteel.
"Ryiah, you're off the case. I can't have you upsetting my officers."
"But Chief..."
"I don't want to hear it. Conference room. Now."
Katarine stormed down the hall, anger simmering under her skin. The moment she crossed into the conference room she pivoted and drove her fist into the wall. Pain flared up her arm and she winced, but she didn't regret it. Unfortunately, the chief hadn't sent her here to cool off alone. Someone was waiting for her.
"Connel?" She turned away from the wall, her deep green eyes widdening in surprise at the sight of him.
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