Private Pawn to e4.

[Darth Virelia]

Location: Canto Blight.
Tag: Tenebrum ​

Serina Calis sat in a velvet-lined booth, nestled in the shadowed corner of an opulent casino in the heart of Canto Bight. The air was thick with the scent of extravagance—perfumed silks, aged wines, and the metallic tang of credit chips being exchanged in hushed deals. Golden chandeliers cast warm pools of light across the marble floors, glinting off the polished surfaces of sabacc tables and high-stakes betting pits. Laughter and whispered conversations rippled through the gilded den of indulgence, but none of it touched her.

She was not here to play.

With languid fingers, she rolled a small, half-finished figurine between her fingertips—a delicate, yet unfinished addition to the grand wargame she orchestrated in her obsidian sanctum. The piece was faceless, nameless, yet. A perfect little pawn waiting to be shaped, molded, placed upon the board. Her board.

A slow smirk curved her lips.

The Tsis'Kaar had their eyes on this one. They slithered through their usual channels, whispering in their endless webs, eager to sink their fangs into their next asset. But Serina had always been faster, hungrier. While they wove their careful intrigues, she moved first, extending her own invitation, offering something more tantalizing than simple servitude.

They would never learn.

Her fingers traced along the edges of the figurine, her mind already drifting into dark, indulgent thoughts. Corruption was a delicate art, one she had mastered with the precision of a sculptor chiseling away at marble. The slow unraveling of one's will, the whisper of temptation, the exquisite moment when resistance melted into surrender—it was a pleasure beyond measure, a dance of inevitability.

Would this new piece resist? Would they fight, struggle, protest their own fall? Oh, she hoped so.

She enjoyed that most of all.

Her armor gleamed under the dim casino lights, its obsidian plating sleek and flawless, marked only by the crimson engravings that shimmered faintly against the darkness. It was a statement, a warning, a whispered promise to those who knew her name. She had not dressed to blend in. She wanted to be seen.

Let them watch. Let them wonder.

She lifted a glass of deep violet wine to her lips, taking a slow sip, savoring the way it burned and lingered. It was expensive, obscenely so, the kind of drink only the rich and foolish indulged in. But Serina was neither. She drank not for pleasure, but for the symbolism—the act of consuming something rare, something coveted, something lesser creatures could only dream of touching.

Her gaze drifted across the casino floor, her sharp blue eyes scanning the entrance. Any moment now.

Her smirk widened as she turned the figurine over in her hand, considering its unfinished form.

Tonight, she would give it a name. Tonight, she would carve it into shape.

 

[Tenebrum]

Location: Canto Bight
Tag: Darth Virelia

It was a puzzle box that Tenebrum could not open, a prospect that filled him with equal trepidation and tantalization. The message had been unsigned, its sender encrypted beyond his skills to parse, delivered without fanfare and yet laced with unspoken threat. Scarcely had Tenebrum set taloned boot within the gloomy halls of the Sith Academy when it had appeared on his datapad - a message that delicately threaded the line between invitation and summons to a particular booth in a particular casino on a particular world called Canto Bight.

The name rung unfamiliar through the admittedly dusty annals of his brain. It was an experience that was becoming familiar, yet he still had not grown used to the jarring sensation of ignorance that ruffled his feathers when confronted by a name or event or location or species he had never heard of. Were it not for the unforgettable circumstances that had landed him in these strange stars, he might have begun to suspect that old age had begun its slow but inexorable descent, that in the end he was nothing more than worm food.

Tenebrum shuddered. The fear was always there in the back of his mind, that he had missed his chance, that he was past his prime, that he would be lucky to get a footnote in the histories as an oddity of his kind, an aberration of the Caamasi people.

The gambler opposite him, a garishly dressed alien whose species too eluded Tenebrum's knowledge, finally wrapped up his rambling story with a smirk.

On cue, Tenebrum brought his taloned hands together in rapid applause, "Marvelous! Simply marvelous, old chum! Imagine the look on his face-" He burst into raucous, tipsy laughter. His counterpart, pleased, motioned to buy him another drink.

Aberration of the Caamasi indeed. Tenebrum typically paid no heed to stereotypes of his kind, but it paid to lean into them now and again. Though known in temples and courts as peace-loving and insular diplomats, the Caamasi were not so well understood among the common people of the galaxy. After all, in a galaxy such as this, what did "peace-loving" mean to a denizen of Nar Shaddaa other than "naive?" And what could "insular" signify to a cosmopolitan Coruscanti besides "simple?"

Needless to say, the aged Caamasi had long become accustomed to the polite condescension of well-meaning but ignorant beings, and though he had once loved to strut like a peacock and display the plumes of learnedness and power proudly, he now found it more useful to play the fool, to snap his beak shut and let them prattle on. This being, for instance: although he had regaled Tenebrum with a tedious and, doubtless, much embellished story about a small triumph at the workplace, Tenebrum had gleaned some small hints about the state of the Corporate Sector and its relationship with the Galactic Alliance.

"Be back in a jiffy, old man," he exclaimed, clapping the beaming alien on the back, "It seems you've cleaned me out!"

Staggering slightly as he rose, Tenebrum made for the cashiers. Slowly, as he pushed his way into the crowd, the mirth drained from his eyes, and though he still leaned on his cane, his drunken gait gave way to a measured pace along a familiar route. The message had allowed him two days travel time, so naturally he had caught the first shuttle and arrived a day early. After a quick encounter with a loudmouthed Rodian who had crowed about his day's winnings, Tenebrum had spent the day at the casino, slowly gambling away the Rodian's small fortune.

Although his initial plan had been to learn more about his mysterious sender, he had found himself at dead ends at every turn. Booth 66 had no regular patron, and indeed, nobody seemed to remember who had ever sat there. At a loss for new leads to pursue, Tenebrum had instead turned his attention towards filling in the woeful gaps in his understanding of this galaxy. As it turned out, the idle rich and the workaday gambling addicts loved having a credulous and exotic old alien to talk to as they played - doubly so if they won. Though nearly bored to tears by the endless stories of dubious romantic conquests and run-ins with local celebrities, Tenebrum was satisfied with his inexorable pursuit of knowledge.

His well-practiced path took him from the side room where he had spent the last hour to the grand hall where dazzling models fawned on career gamblers, and aristocrats danced their little dances of diplomacy over a roulette table. Tenebrum had to admit, the seedy casinos of Nar Shaddaa had nothing on the grandeur and decadence of this place. It was as if the casino itself had been carved from an asteroid-sized hunk of aurodium, and the fancy dress of the gamblers around him was almost as ravishingly exotic as the Sith balls he had attended in his time. Setting his wide-eyed gaze back into place, Tenebrum's eyes passed idly over the booths in the back of the room, eyes subtly sharpening like a hawk seeking his next meal.

Abruptly, his purposeful pace halted, and he ignored the annoyed exclamations and rough jockeying as tipsy patrons rang headlong into him. There, in the appointed booth, sat a young human female in rich red finery, sipping away at a vintage Tenebrum dared not guess the price. Could this be his mysterious stranger?

He checked his chrono. Only a few minutes shy of the appointed time. No point in standing frozen and allowing the endless possibilities, theories, and contingencies churn through his brain. Besides, her eyes were already flitting keenly across the room. Whether she knew what he looked like or not, it was a matter of only seconds before she noticed him.

As he began to cross the room, the only thing that remained to determine was how to play this encounter. By all rights, he was at a disadvantage here; clearly this woman knew something of him, and despite his best efforts, he knew nothing of her. Surely she knew he was a Sith prospect, did she not? Again trepidation trickled through him as he pondered: could she even know from whence he came?

Silencing the churn, he resolved to play it cool. There was nothing to be gained, and perhaps much to lose, in speculating what she knew. Better to dabble in niceties while he determined what cards were in her hand before he made any bold moves.

Arriving at the booth, he tapped his cane against the table, a kindly smile forming in his eyes as he peered down at the seated woman, "Expecting company, my dear?"

 

[Darth Virelia]

Location: Canto Blight.
Tag: Tenebrum ​

Serina had been watching him long before he had noticed her.

She sat languidly in her seat, the picture of indulgent leisure, but behind the relaxed posture and the slow, deliberate sips of her vintage, her mind was coiled, sharp and waiting. The casino floor was a stage, and she had already determined the movements of its actors. The gamblers lost in their fortunes, the fawning aristocrats whispering false promises, the hired hands keeping quiet order in the shadows—none of them mattered. Not tonight.

Only he did.

Tenebrum. The aberration. The misplaced piece. The puzzle box yet to be solved.

She had expected something intriguing, and he did not disappoint. An aged Caamasi, one who did not move with the serene dignity of his kind, but with something far more deliberate. The way he staggered through his performance, the theatrical drunkenness, the knowing glint behind his avian eyes—it was all carefully calculated. Oh, she liked that. How utterly amusing it was to watch an old man still learning new tricks.

And yet, for all his careful steps, here he stood at her table.

As his cane tapped against the surface, Serina exhaled a quiet breath, setting her glass down with delicate precision. Slowly, she rolled the unfinished figure between her fingers, the tiny, formless piece turning over and over in her palm. He was observant—of course he was—but had he noticed it yet? Had he seen the way she touched it? Had he sensed that, in her mind, he had already been added to her game?

Her gaze lifted to meet his, and her smile was slow, languid, knowing.

"Company?" she repeated, savoring the word as though tasting the last drop of a particularly fine wine. Her voice was rich, sultry, laced with something wicked, something playful. Something dangerous.

She tilted her head, studying him. A lesser being might have withered under her scrutiny, but Tenebrum was no fool. He was already measuring her, calculating, waiting to see what role she intended for him. Good. Let him think he was on equal footing. That was the most delicious part—watching them think they had control, until they realized the strings had already been wrapped around their throats.

"You make it sound so mundane," she continued, voice lilting with amusement. "Expecting company implies the usual things, does it not? A meeting. A discussion. Perhaps even an agreement."

Her fingers traced slow, lazy circles over the figure, feeling its edges, its imperfections. It was not yet shaped, not yet complete. Just like him.

"But you and I both know," she said, her voice dropping just slightly, her tone shifting into something more intimate, more seductive, "that this is no ordinary meeting, and you are no ordinary guest."

She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin against her palm, her piercing blue eyes gleaming like a predator toying with its prey.

"Come now," she purred. "We both know that you wouldn't have come all this way just to ask such dull little questions. Have a seat, darling. Let's play a more interesting game."

She gestured toward the seat opposite her with the faintest flick of her fingers, her expression one of invitation—but not one that could be refused. The choice had already been made for him the moment he stepped into her orbit.

The only question left was whether he had realized it yet.

 

[Tenebrum]

TAG: Darth Virelia

The woman was a paradox, that much was certain. Scarcely old enough to merit the term "woman" rather than "girl," there was nothing girlish about the measured way her gaze rose to regard the Caamasi, eyes awash with a strange knowingness. She appeared utterly at ease, and although everything about her appearance suggested a bored aristocrat, her first words dripped with a poisoned honey far more quietly confident than the languor of a rich girl who has never worked a day in her life.

There was no doubt in Tenebrum's mind that this was the origin of the mysterious message. But as the woman began to speak, doubt of another sort began to creep into his mind. The way she spoke was intriguing, yes, but there was something manufactured about it, as if the way she presented herself was carefully designed to pique his interest, rather than being truly interesting. It was the way a romance scammer sweet-talked a wealthy octogenarian, the way a con man flattered a naive young nobleman – the way Tenebrum had hung on every word of his quarries this very evening.

Tenebrum's eyes narrowed. Had he overestimated the import of the message he'd received, traveled all this way for a common thief to prey on the lascivious loneliness of an old man? A smile tugged at his beak. If that was the case, she was more frighteningly correct than she knew; he was indeed no ordinary guest. For wasting his time so carelessly, he would be certain to derive what enjoyment he could from the encounter, and he could be sure she would not be so delighted with his choice of entertainment.

"Come now," he chuckled, playing along, "what reason could a young thing like yourself have to flatter an old hoot so?"

Still, he couldn't be certain he had discovered her true nature yet. There was an unmistakable tone of entitlement in her voice, the sound of one used to getting what she wanted. The hallmark of a noblewoman, to be sure, or even a con artist used to easy marks. But the immaculately maintained armor she wore contradicted both of these personas. It spoke of danger lurking behind the starry eyes, reminiscent to him of the elegant battle armor of Sith Ladies. But unlike those Sith Ladies, from whom dark side power exuded like a malevolent halo, he could sense no such aura from this one. Either her power was so great that she had mastered the art of concealing her affinity . . . or her garb was a sham designed to intimidate lower beings such as herself who knew no more of what power meant than they possessed the abilities that defined it. Likewise, the way she made a show of toying with a game piece could mean only one thing. More than anything, she wanted him to believe that she was in control.

Tenebrum's smile grew to match hers. "A more interesting game" indeed. Either she held all the cards, or he did; there was no in-between. One way or another, one of them would not leave Canto Bight the same person. If they left the planet at all.

"Then a game you shall have!" He crowed as he gently let himself down into the seat opposite hers. No need to let on just yet that he was wise to her little show; after all, she so clearly anticipated the game to come, and what fun was a game without an element of surprise and mystery? They were still in their opening moves.

"What will it be then?" Tenebrum motioned to a waiter carrying the free champagne flutes designed to entice guests to stay for just one more game. He, at least, had time to stay for just one more. "Dejarik? Sabbacc? Or perhaps you care to roll the dice? And meantime, perhaps you can enlighten this old soul what he did to merit an audience with a woman such as yourself?"

 

[Darth Virelia]

Location: Canto Blight.
Tag: Tenebrum ​

Serina's smile deepened, slow and indulgent, like the first sip of a vintage meant only for the most decadent of palates. Her fingers never stopped moving, rolling the small, unfinished figure between them as if she were contemplating its fate, as if its very shape depended on her whim.

"Oh, my dear Tenebrum," she purred, the syllables of his name rolling over her tongue like silk, deliberate, intimate, possessive. "Sabbacc, Dejarik, dice? So crude. So predictable. Those games rely too much on chance, on numbers and rules that limit the pleasure of play. No, I prefer something more... intricate. More personal. A game where every move is a caress, every feint a whispered promise, every conquest an inevitability that unfolds so slowly that, by the time my opponent realizes they've lost, they're already begging for me to finish them."

She lifted the game piece to eye level, tilting her head just slightly, letting the dim casino light gleam along its smooth, unfinished form. "I call it Domination," she continued, her voice a languid drawl, rich and honeyed, as if she were sharing a most intimate secret. "I play it alone, of course. It would be cruel to let others think they ever had a chance."

Her other hand traced slow, lazy circles along the table's edge, the movement mirroring the rhythm of her words, a teasing glide meant to enrapture. "The game begins simply. I choose a planet—oh, it could be anywhere, anywhere at all, a world ripe for the taking. And then… I introduce myself. Not as a conqueror. No, that would be so boring, wouldn't it? A brute's method, all force and fire and screaming submission. No, I prefer… erosion."

She let the word linger, savoring the shape of it before continuing.

"I start with something small—a whisper, a gift, a favor done without expectation. A touch so light, so harmless, that they barely even notice it. Perhaps a struggling merchant suddenly finds their debts mysteriously erased, or a politician is offered a secret that keeps them just one step ahead of their rivals. Perhaps an entire fleet finds itself stranded in my domain, not as prisoners, but as guests—pampered, indulged, pleasured beyond reason, until they forget why they ever wanted to leave."

Serina's nails tapped against the figure in her palm, a steady, calculated rhythm. "Then the real fun begins. They start to rely on me, to trust me, to crave what I give them. Their economy bends around my influence, their soldiers fight wars with weapons I provide, their leaders start to think that their power comes from their own brilliance when, in truth, it drips from my fingertips. And once they are mine—truly mine—once they know they are mine… oh, darling, that's when I take them completely. And they love me for it."

She exhaled, slow and satisfied, before taking another sip of her wine, letting the moment settle, letting the weight of her words press against him.

"And that," she murmured, setting her glass down with delicate finality, "is how I play my games."

She tilted her head, regarding him with a gaze that was half amusement, half invitation. "Now tell me, Tenebrum," she whispered, rolling the unfinished game piece between her fingers one last time before setting it down before him, its smooth, blank form gleaming under the casino lights. "What kind of piece do you think you will be?"

 

[Tenebrum]

TAG: Darth Virelia

Where Serina's smile widened, Tenebrum's dimmed. Disappointing. He had hoped for an extended repartee, a dance of words and glances as he worked out just who this presumptuous creature was. But no, for all her coy allusions to a game, she clearly had no real interest in playing. Just as he had suspected, it was all an act meant to entice him. And it had gotten him on the hook, hadn't it?

Now, now, he cautioned himself. Although her encrypted message showed that she clearly had talents currently beyond his understanding, so did any two-bit slicer. For being such a conniving denizen of such a technological world, Tenebrum was little better than a luddite, one content to putter around on starships and make calls on the Holonet and do his research on datapads without truly understanding the inner workings of any of them. If Tenebrum was being honest – and he rarely was – it was a hypocrisy on his part, a willing ignorance he had allowed to go unchallenged for too long. And now look at him – jumping at the shadow of a girl scarcely a third of his age just because she had sent an unsigned notice to his datapad? It was disgraceful, and it would have to be corrected.

But that was a point against him, not one in her favor. Tenebrum eyed the woman as she spun her oh-so-self-satisfied tale. So far, all of her sinuous words and aggrandized pontification about planetary domination had not done anything to prove to him that she was actually a threat. If anything, it only increased his skepticism.

He allowed his smile to return, the affable twinkle drained from his eyes. Well then, if she refused to participate in the early stages of this verbal sabbacc match, he would have to skip to the climax and call her bluff. His beak opened, and he allowed a chuckle to escape it, utterly mirthless but laced with derision.

"My, what good fortune!" he chortled, sipping at his champagne unconcernedly, "A galactic dominatrix deigns to invite me to a cup of tea! Tired of exploiting the economy and subjugating planetary systems, are we? I suppose I should be terribly honored that I caught the eye of a woman who, no doubt, is off to an audience with the Emperor after this!"

Tenebrum's tone grew more frigid, "It almost beggars belief, doesn't it?" He slowly enunciated the question, leaning forward, his eyes drilling into the woman's, all good humor gone in an instant. For a few moments, he allowed silence to fill the space between them, testy, crackling with tension.

"Now," he leaned back, picking up the game piece and idly examining it, "suppose you drop this little charade and tell me who you really are."

"I assure you," he added, his tone tinged with a mockery of earnest sincerity, "if your answer does not adequately explain to me why you have drawn me here from halfway across the galaxy, you will soon be playing my game."

 

[Darth Virelia]

Location: Canto Blight.
Tag: Tenebrum ​

Serina's expression did not change as Tenebrum's amusement faded, as the warmth in his eyes cooled into something hard and cutting. If anything, she found it all the more delightful.

Oh, this was the moment she relished. The moment when they thought they had seized the upper hand. The moment when they realized—perhaps just at the edge of their mind, where discomfort begins to gnaw—that things were not going the way they had expected.

She did not react when he laughed, did not bristle at his mocking barbs, did not so much as blink when his eyes bore into hers with unveiled scrutiny. Because this was the part she loved most—not domination, not victory, not even the act of corruption itself, but the moment before. The moment when they thought they had a grip on the game, only to realize the pieces had already been moved without them.

She had let him wander, let him test the ground, let him think he was playing with her, when all the while she had been wrapping the layout of this conversation around her fingers like silk.

And now? Now he was trying to take it back. How utterly adorable.

She had no intention of letting him.

Slowly, luxuriously, she leaned back into her seat, crossing one leg over the other with deliberate ease, her movements smooth and fluid, like a dancer settling into the rhythm of a song only she could hear. She picked up her wine glass again, taking a slow sip—not hurried, not flustered, not defensive. Just patient. Indulgent.

And then she smiled.

It was not the same knowing smile she had worn before, nor was it some wounded mask of offense. It was smaller, softer, amused—like an older sister humoring the antics of a sibling who thought they had just outwitted her at a game she had mastered long ago.

"You misunderstand me," she purred, setting the glass back down with the lightest touch. "I never said I was here to convince you of anything."

She let the words settle.

Then, ever so casually, she let her fingers dance toward the game piece still in his grip. Not to snatch it, not to fight for it—just to remind him, without words, that it had been hers first.

"I don't need to drop a charade, Tenebrum," she continued smoothly, her voice as rich as the vintage still lingering on her lips. "You're the one who assumed there was one. How interesting that you would leap to such a conclusion."

She tilted her head, watching him, drinking in the moment. Oh, the way they all squirmed when they realized they were no longer standing where they thought they were.

"You came here expecting one thing," she mused, tapping a single nail against the tabletop. "And when you did not get it, you became… upset. Frustrated. Threatened, even." Her eyes flicked to the piece in his hands, then back to his own gaze, still gleaming with that quiet, indulgent amusement. "And now, you are grasping for something firm to hold onto, some solid ground where you can stand and command and tell yourself that you are still in control. That you have some powerover this moment."

A soft, knowing chuckle escaped her lips.

"How terribly boring that would be."

She sighed, stretching her fingers idly along the table's edge. "I have not asked for control, darling. I never needed to. You came to me—not the other way around. You followed my invitation. You walked into my presence. And now you demand that I explain myself to you?" She arched a delicate brow, tilting her chin just so. "How very precious."

She let silence fill the space between them again, though it was not the same tense, crackling pause he had wielded before. No, this was a comfortable silence, a confident one, because Serina did not need to demand an answer from him.

He had already given her all the answers she needed.

Finally, she reached forward—not for the piece, not for him, but for her wine, lifting it once more. "Tell me something, dear Tenebrum," she said with a sultry ease, her lips curling just as she took another sip. "If you were so determined to force me into your game... why are we still playing mine?"

And then, she waited.

Because that, more than anything, was the part she adored—watching them realize.

 

[Tenebrum]

TAG: Darth Virelia

This was the point in the conversation where most of Tenebrum's peers would have reached a breaking point. There was something to be said for a certain amount of posturing; sly allusions to hidden power and veiled threats were conversational standards for any budding Sith. But as the woman threatened to wend them around in circles back to the beginning of the conversation, most Sith would decide that they had heard enough and introduce a lightsaber into the conversation. Either slice first and ask questions later . . . or slice and slice again and return to their daily lives without a second thought.

That was not Tenebrum's way though. More to the point, it was exactly this propensity that Tenebrum himself had exploited time and time again. He could be drawn into a fight, true, and he had certainly started a fight more than once in his time. But he could never be goaded into a fight, never have his impatience turned against him. It was he who controlled the conversation, he whose patience for barbs and sinister implications could never be exhausted. And so even as the woman once again turned back to vacuous implications that he was a pawn in some larger scheme, he did not allow himself to be baited.

That isn't to say that the thought of violence had not crossed Tenebrum's mind, however. Whatever else she may or may not be hiding, Tenebrum had to admit that she was his equal when it came to grand speeches. Amusement again infused his thoughts remembering what a waffler he had been back in the day. This woman greatly reminded him of himself in those early days - all talk, and no action.

Indeed, Tenebrum had no doubt that "action" was inevitable. They would talk in circles all day if they kept this up . . . and a nagging suspicion had begun to pervade Tenebrum's mind that that was exactly what she intended to do. She was stalling: for what, he couldn't say. But he had no intention of waiting for her to spring whatever trap she had planned.

"You are correct, madam," he said, keeping his voice perfectly even, "I did come here expecting one thing: a point to this conversation."

As he began to speak, ever so softly he began to stretch forth with his feelings, probing at the edges of her mind. He would indulge her for now, keep her engaged in this coquettish little tete-a-tete to her heart's content. But this conversation would no longer merely be for its own sake, but instead the tools he would use to crack open her mind and discover the pearls within.

"But before we continue our verbal sparring," he held a feathered hand up, "we seem to have passed over the barest of social niceties. You seem to have me at a disadvantage already knowing my name. Even if you are intent on keeping this greater 'game' a mystery, might you spare me the smallest courtesy of your name?"

As he asked, he pushed into her mind with greater force, all subtlety abandoned. A moment of even unintentional introspection on her part was all the time he needed to discover her true nature. Even if she intended on keeping her true identity a secret, her true name would surely rise unbidden to her mind. On the other hand, if she willingly divulged that name with no mental blocks, who knows what juicy details he might discover further in? Either way, if she possessed no talent for the Force, even this brazen attack on the front gates would completely elude her attention.

But if she did happen to have any hidden abilities in the Force, she would see this attack coming and would be forced to make a decision one way or another: let him in or bar the gates and reveal the ace up her sleeve.

Tenebrum allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. Soon, one way or the other, all her cards would be out on the table.

 

[Darth Virelia]

Location: Canto Blight.
Tag: Tenebrum ​

The moment Tenebrum reached for her mind, Serina smiled.

It was not the playful, indulgent smile she had worn before. Not the amused curl of lips meant to lull and tease. No, this smile was something else entirely. It was slower, sharper—a thing of pure, unfiltered pleasure.

Finally.

She had been waiting for this, waiting for him to take the bait, waiting for him to make the mistake every would-be player of her game inevitably did.

Oh, she had known from the beginning what he was—his arrogance, his skepticism, his careful, calculated patience. You're not like the others, his every movement had whispered. You can't bait me. You can't trap me. I see through your little act.

She had let him believe that. Let him think he had maneuvered around her, let him choose to skip past her words, let him decide that action was inevitable, all the while subtly weaving his own thoughts toward that single, critical mistake.

And here it was.

The moment he pushed into her mind, he would find nothing.

Not resistance. Not defenses. Not barriers hastily thrown up in a panic. No. Nothing.

It was like reaching for the ground beneath your feet only to find yourself stepping into a bottomless abyss. There was no there there—no surface to press against, no mind to grasp, no foothold to dig into. It was not the mark of someone ignorant to the Force. It was not the raw, clumsy panic of a neophyte, nor was it the brute mental wall of a weaker mind.

It was something far, far worse.

It was deliberate.

Serina did not block him. She did not fight him. She did not force him out. Instead, she simply wasn't there to be reached at all.

And for the briefest, most exquisite of moments, she let him feel it—that perfect absence, that awful, yawning realization that he was not invading a fortress but stepping into a void from which there was no escape.

Then, slowly, she let herself return.

Piece by piece.

The first thing he felt was not panic. Not confusion.

It was laughter.

Dark, sultry laughter, curling around his thoughts like silk, slipping into the very edges of his mind as if she had been waiting for him to open the door.

Oh, darling, her voice purred, not from her lips, but inside his skull, warm and intimate, pressing just against the edges of his consciousness. How forward of you. We've only just met and already you're trying to slip inside me?

And then she leaned forward, physically, her eyes locking onto his, her fingers dragging idly along the surface of the table.

"Serina," she said aloud, rolling the name off her tongue like something decadent, something luscious. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

She watched him, her expression pure, unadulterated delight. Oh, she had been right about him. He was more fun than the usual ones. But he had overplayed his hand.

She could see it in his eyes—the briefest flicker of discomfort, of something unaccounted for. He had expected a fight. He had expected resistance. He had expected anything but the nothing he had been given.

Serina exhaled, savoring the moment like a woman luxuriating in the heat of a sun-drenched silk bed. Then, finally, she pulled away, retreating from his mind entirely—not because she had to, but because she had already won.

"You should be more careful, darling," she murmured, lifting her wine glass once more. "Some games… you don't win by pushing. Some games, you lose the moment you reach."

She took a sip, the smile never leaving her lips.

"Now," she continued, her voice warm, sultry, teasing, "shall we begin again?"