Sunshine
Loronar had not been a place Ivy expected to visit.
Not because she had anything against the planet itself. In truth, she knew remarkably little about it beyond what could be gleaned from public records, news reports, and the occasional political article her father happened to appear in. Loronar had always existed in her mind as an extension of
Ephram Pryce
rather than a place in its own right: the world he represented, the world where he conducted his business, the world that seemed to receive far more of his attention than his own children ever had.The planet was cold.
Not in temperature—though the air outside the landing platform had a sharp, polished bite to it—but in the way everything seemed to stand too straight, shine too clean, and hold itself like it was being watched.
Ivy stood at the base of the complex housing her father's penthouse and stared up at it for a long moment.
Nearly two years.
That was how long it had been since she had last seen Ephram Pryce.
She had not told him she was coming.
Normally, Ivy would've found that rude. She preferred warning, preparation, the courtesy of knowing when someone intended to enter her space. It was only decent, after all, to give a person time to brace themselves, to put things in order, to decide what version of themselves they wished to present. But this was different. This was her father. And if Ivy was being honest with herself, a quieter, sharper part of her had wanted the upper hand.
Let him be surprised.
Let him be caught off guard.
Perhaps even caught doing something he would rather not explain.
There was a cruel little satisfaction in that thought, and Ivy wore it like armor as she approached the entrance. Another part of her—steadier, older, more wounded—simply wanted to see whether anything had changed. Whether there was still some version of him that Ivy could look at and feel something warm, something immediate, something that belonged to a father.
Or whether she would be walking into another conversation full of polite distance and carefully measured words.
Her jaw tightened.
She had changed, at least.
Since the last time she'd stood in Ephram's orbit, Ivy had worn a Navy uniform, flown starfighters, worked with people who had no reason to flatter her, and survived on her own terms. Now she was a member of the Jedi Order. A Padawan. A woman who had built herself into something her father did not help shape, fund, or coddly approve of. And he would know it the moment he saw her.
The thought steadied her.
She had considered, briefly, showing up quietly. Subtly. Something less obvious than Jedi robes and a lightsaber on her hip. Something that might have let her slip through the door as Ava Pryce, the daughter he used to know—if that daughter even still existed. But after days of turning it over in meditation, she had decided she was done being ashamed of the life she had forged.
No. She would not go back.
If Ephram Pryce represented Loronar, then Ivy Maro would represent the Order she had chosen with her whole heart. If she was going to stand before a senator, then she would do it honestly, openly, and in full view of the person she had become.
The guards at the door took one look at her and proved her instinct right.
"I'm here to see the Senator, Ephram Pryce," Ivy said, keeping her voice level.
The words sounded strange coming from her mouth, not with ease like a cocksure heir accustomed to visiting Loronor and calling upon their father, here. Ephram had always come to Tepasi. Or, more accurately, when his schedule allowed him to come. Ivy had grown up understanding that there was a particular order to things. That her father had a life, work, responsibilities... Things Ivy had been expected to understand as a child that she could not be a part of. At least, not yet.
The nearest security officer studied her. "Do you have an appointment?"
"No."
"What is your name?"
"Ivy Maro—er—Ava Pryce."
That earned her a longer stare.
It didn't help that she had no old identification to produce, no family token, no neat little piece of evidence proving what she already knew was true. Security hesitated. Secretaries hesitated. Senator Pryce, they told her, was busy. He could not be disturbed. He was in meetings. He was occupied. He was unavailable.
Ivy could feel the old frustration stirring under her ribs, that familiar sensation of being kept at arm's length by people who thought they knew better than she did what she was entitled to.
"I am Senator Pryce's daughter." Ivy lifted her chin, each word carefully placed. "Ava Pryce."
Still more staring. Still more delay.
When that failed to move them, Ivy tightened her expression and tried another route. "It's important Jedi business."
That, at least, had an effect.
Not a large one, but enough.
A comm line was placed. Someone spoke quietly behind a desk. Ivy handed over her lightsaber to a custodian. Another person came to escort her through one corridor, then another. Ivy was told to wait. Then to follow. Then to wait again in a different room with walls too smooth and seating too expensive. Ivy lost count of how many staff members glanced at her with polite suspicion, how many doors opened and closed behind her, how many minutes passed while she sat perfectly still and tried not to think about how absurdly much this felt like she was being measured.
By the time they finally paused her in one of the outer rooms, Ivy was acutely aware of every detail she had chosen for this visit.
The cream-colored Jedi tunic. The pastel blue tabards accented with soft pink. The braided updo with waves framing her face, threaded with bright flowers the younglings under her care had insisted on placing in her hair that morning before she left. A little too delicate, perhaps. A little too cheerful. But somehow, on this day, it all felt right.
The young woman Ephram had last seen had been uncertain and unrefined, almost tomboyish. Ava Pryce had favored blue and black almost exclusively. Her hair had been plain and practical, usually pulled into a tight bun or low ponytail. There had been little adornment, little softness.
Ivy folded her hands behind her back and lifted her chin, staring at the closed door ahead with a calm that felt almost convincing.
Almost.
Underneath her composure, under the smugness and resentment and stubborn determination, anxiety still flickered.
Would he recognize her?
Would he care?
Ivy held her breath and waited for the door to open.
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