Private Shadows in Silk

[Sommer Dai]

Sommer stepped closer to the holopanel.

"Can you meet me?"

 

[Alyssa Kydd]

Alyssa gave a lopsided grin. "Wherever you've got clearance, I'll find a way. Give me a vector and two days. If you're serious… I'll even clean the cockpit."

 

[Sommer Dai]

Sommer laughed. "No need to make promises you know you won't keep. Ill send location"

The call ended with a flicker.


Sommer stared out the window again — the city still buzzing, still waiting to eat her alive.

But now, somewhere between the stars, a friend was on her way.

And that meant maybe — just maybe — she had space to breathe.

If she traveled alone, perhaps the ghosts would stay in the shadows

 

[Kaelon Virex]

[The Gilded Veil – Main Kitchen]

The smell hit Kael like a slap.

Something between burnt poodoo and deep-fried calamari.

He stormed through the service corridor, his jacket half-on, commlink clutched like a weapon. His boots slid slightly on something oily — he didn't want to know what — and skidded to a stop just outside the main kitchen.

Inside, two chefs were screaming at each other in Huttese.

A fryer was smoking. Something was on fire in a pan, unattended. A dancer in costume held a plate of what appeared to be blue mush cubes on skewers.

"WHAT the kriff is happening in here?!"

Everyone turned.

One of the chefs, a Rodian with sauce stains down to his elbows, tried to explain. "We ran out of Corellian krill, so we substituted with...uh... squid-glob. From storage."

Kael blinked. "Squid-glob? That's not a food. That sounds like something a *space slug puked up after getting food poisoning from the actual menu."

The dancer set down the tray and nodded grimly. "Someone just threw up near Table Nine. We're not sure if it was from the music or the skewers."

Kael pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Sommer leaves for five hours and this place turns into a backwater caf run by Jawas on a sugar high."

He stormed out of the kitchen and hit his comm.

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael: "Arq. Tell me you're still on-planet."

Arq (groggy, chewing something): "I just left Sommer's penthouse. Was on my way to get caffa. What happened? Did Zori come back?"

Kael: "Worse. The menu is a disaster, half the dancers are confused by the new theme night, and someone's apparently doing 'experimental' interpretive dance near the holo-chess lounge."

Arq: "…Interpretive dance?"

Kael: "They're dressed like a Togrutan monk, Arq. The rhythm is making people leave. Voluntarily."

Arq: "…Stars. I'm turning around."

Kael: "Bless you. Bring caffa. We're out. Also, if I die here, tell Sommer I kept the krill cakes from getting us all poisoned."

Arq: "Noted. See you in ten."

[The Gilded Veil – Stage Floor, 15 Minutes Later]

Kael stood beside the DJ booth with a datapad in one hand and a cracked drink in the other. He stared at a half-drunk Bothan who was loudly explaining that the new drinks "tasted like regret mixed with bantha milk."

The club still pulsed with light and movement, but something was off.

Too chaotic. Too scattered. Too… hollow.

And that's when it hit Kael:
​

This place breathes when she's here.​

Sommer wasn't just the owner.

She was the anchor.

The mood. The presence. The balance between sensuality and power. Without her touch, the whole place felt like an imitation.

He turned as Arq walked in, caffa in hand, scanning the room with a long sigh.​

 

[Arq*]

"Kriff," Arq muttered. "We need her back before the ice sculptures start melting into a nervous breakdown."

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael handed him a datapad. "Let's fix the menu. Reprogram the lighting. Cancel Monk Night."

 

[Arq*]

Arq blinked. "You let them make it a night?!"

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael rubbed his temple. "I didn't say yes. I just didn't say no fast enough."

They both looked around the Veil — lights flickering, music skipping, waitstaff flustered.

"This place is trying," Kael said softly. "But it doesn't work without her."

 

[Arq*]

Arq nodded.

"No kingdom without the Queen. However, We may have to make do. She's going to go for a MUCH NEEDED VACATION. "

 

[Sommer Dai]

Sommer Dai's heels clicked with purpose down the cracked duracrete walkway of the Black Vault Bazaar — Nar Shaddaa's worst-kept secret for serious weaponry and serious ghosts.


She moved like she belonged, because she did — even in her tailored coat, even with the glittered black slit dress underneath. Every step echoed the blend of glamour and grit that made her infamous.


And those heels?


Deadly.


Each one fitted with hidden vibro-blades, expertly sharpened and rigged to deploy with a twist of the ankle. A final gift from an old Zeltron friend with a wicked sense of humor.


In her purse:
— A perfume bottle filled with pressurized sedative gas
— A forged data chit for misdirection
— Her old pendant from the streets, now just a reminder of who she used to be


But this trip wasn't nostalgia. This was prep.

[Inside Black Vault Arms – "Legitimate Goods" Division]

The arms dealer, a scrawny Besalisk named Garnok, wiped sweat from his upper chin as he watched Sommer inspect the array of blasters in his secure case.

"Concealable. Lightweight. Enough punch to take down a Hutt if you aim right," he said, tapping a sleek, matte-black piece with twin-barrel modifications.

Sommer tested the grip. It fit snug between her ribs and the lining of her jacket.

"I want it tuned to red crystal output," she said. "Silent as it can be. Flash-guarded."

Garnok winced. "Price jumps for crystal mods. You sure—"

She raised an eyebrow.
He shut up.

She dropped credits. No haggling.

"Done."

[Skyport – En Route to Transit Hub 9]

Later, she parked her speeder with valet service outside the SkySpire Terminal, slipping the attendant a few extra credits for a "don't-look-too-closely" tip.


She walked in alone. Just her clutch, her comm, her confidence, and the chill that always crept in before a new chapter.


She reached a bench near the public transport platform, where ships roared overhead like screaming ghosts. She sat, adjusted her coat, and opened her comm for one last message. This one to Andrew.


She stared at the blank screen for several moments before finally speaking — soft, clear, intentional.

"Andrew...
I know it's hard for you to say some things. Maybe the hardest things. Maybe words don't work the same when you've spent your life behind a machine.
But I heard you, in my mind.
And I believe you love me."

"But love isn't always a future.
And I don't see how one works for us.
Maybe it's the timing. Or the fire we both refuse to put out. Maybe it's the parts of ourselves we keep trying to fix alone.
Just... don't chase me. Not this time."

"Thank you for saving me.
For seeing me."

She ended the message and hit send.


It was done.


She didn't cry.


Not this time.

[Transport Shuttle – Departure Pad]

She boarded the public shuttle alone, blending in with off-worlders and refugees, smugglers and shopkeepers. No VIP treatment. No private suite. Just a leather strap above her head and a neon overhead light that flickered too often.

As the shuttle lifted off and roared toward the Southward Spire Line, she glanced at her comm again — no reply from Andrew.

She closed her eyes.

But somewhere ahead, Alyssa Kydd waited.

And with her… maybe some clarity Sommer hadn't known she needed.

 

[Kaelon Virex]

The Gilded Veil was alive again.

Not perfect. But breathing.

Kael leaned with both elbows on the edge of the stage platform, his usual smuggler grin in full tilt. The lights dimmed around him, candles lit across the lounge tables, and a hazy smoke from imported spice cigars curled lazily through the air.

And on the small practice stage in front of him —
They sang.

A five-piece vocal group — tight harmonies, dark leather jackets, and boots that clapped with every beat. Their music was smooth but electric, laced with the kind of grit the Veil needed after a string of chaos.

And then there was her.

The lead singer.

Black hair down to her waist, styled in a mess of intentional chaos. Her voice was like melted glass over a vibro-steel edge, and her eyes flicked toward Kael like she already knew his whole damn playbook.

"They're very good," said a server beside him.

"They're better than good," Kael replied, watching the singer dip into a hypnotic verse, the entire room swaying with her voice. "They're ours—if I've still got it."

 

[Kaelon Virex]

[Later – Lounge Booth, Post-Performance]

"I'm not saying we sign anything tonight," Kael said, swirling his Corellian Reserve in a crystal glass, "but I am saying that this stage was made for you."

The singer — name was Elira Kaen — tilted her head and smiled, half flattered, half entertained.

"This some old Outer Rim charm tactic?" she asked, brushing hair from her face.

"No," Kael smirked. "This is refined Nar Shaddaa hustle. Very different. Classier. I even use words like 'refined.'"

She chuckled. "We've had offers."

"But not this offer," Kael countered smoothly. "Your own residency. Half the cut of every ticket. Veil exposure — syndicate clients, Core royalty, and whoever Sommer decides not to throw out. And I'll personally make sure your crew gets the good lodgings."

Her bandmates murmured among themselves, intrigued.

Elira eyed Kael. "And what do you get?"

Kael leaned forward with that cocky sideways grin.

"One night of magic. Maybe two. And the satisfaction of knowing this place won't fall apart before the Queen returns."

She grinned. "We stay. For now."

Kael stood and clapped his hands together.

"You heard her — drinks on the house!" he shouted to the lounge.

The Veil erupted with cheers.

Several servers exchanged wide-eyed glances and hustled to the bar, and the music spun up again — not from the band this time, but from the system. The warmth was returning.

Kael glanced one more time at Elira as she spun off to laugh with her bandmates, her silhouette slicing through neon blue.

Something about her…
Something wild.
Something dangerous in just the right way.

He didn't fall easily.

But he always watched the fall happen.