Jairdain did not move right away when Connel turned to leave. She felt the shift before she fully registered the sound of his footsteps, the way his presence peeled away from the room with a sharp, unyielding resolve that cut through the surrounding noise. For a long, quiet moment, she simply remained where she was, her fingers still loosely threaded with Jax's, allowing the sting of his departure to settle in her chest without trying to soften it or call it back.
Family, she thought, and she made no attempt to reach for him with anything that resembled command or guilt.
Instead, she let a quiet, almost imperceptible brush of the Force extend toward him, the gentlest echo of a hand at his back, a wordless wish carried on a breath she did not release.
Come home alive.
Only then did she step forward. Not toward the center, not toward any place of authority, but simply far enough to keep the edges of the room from fraying further, as though her presence alone could keep the air from splintering under the weight of everything left unsaid.
Her palm drifted briefly to her stomach, a gesture that steadied her more than it protected her, and when she finally spoke, her voice carried the tone of someone offering perspective rather than direction, a voice meant to ease tension rather than claim ground.
"Connel is not wrong to name what he needs," she said, her words even and unforced, shaped by experience rather than certainty. "And none of us are helped by pretending that conviction is the same thing as recklessness, or that caution is the same thing as cowardice."
She angled her head toward Ala in a small, deliberate acknowledgment that was respectful without being deferential, a recognition of another voice that deserved to be heard.
"Ala is not wrong either," Jairdain continued, her tone remaining calm and measured. "We cannot afford to become an army again simply because fear is loud. We tried that once already, and we all remember what we buried afterward."
She let the silence stretch for a breath, giving the weight of that memory room to settle without dramatics. The quiet that followed was not empty. It was reflective, the kind that allowed people to hear themselves again.
"And," she added, her voice softening without losing clarity, "the way we speak to one another matters. If people hear only dismissal, they walk away long before we ever reach the work. Not because they lack loyalty, but because they are exhausted."
Her attention moved across the room in a slow, unhurried sweep, never lingering long enough to single anyone out as a target. When her awareness brushed the corner where Eloise had spoken, it carried no hint of reprimand. It held only recognition, the quiet acknowledgment of someone who understood the shape of anger even when she refused to feed it.
"I understand the anger in this room," Jairdain said, her voice low but steady. "I truly do. But we cannot allow anger to become the only language we speak. It is far too easy for that to turn into something the Sith can predict."
She did not name names. She did not assign blame. She simply offered the truth as she had lived it, letting the room decide what to do with it.
Her awareness shifted again as other threads of the conversation surfaced. Mykel's push for something tangible, Braze's hard-won patience, Ko's quiet practicality, and Sela's reminder that hope was something built as much as it was defended. Each voice carried its own kind of wisdom, and she let herself acknowledge that openly.
"There is a great deal of wisdom here," she said, almost gently. "More than we seem willing to admit to ourselves. Information matters. Relief matters. Quiet work matters. And yes, there are moments when fire matters too."
Her gaze, unfocused in the physical sense but deeply attentive in the way she listened, drifted toward the place where Ike had spoken earlier. She did not accept anything on behalf of anyone, but she offered a small inclination of her head, a polite acknowledgment of effort, of presence, of intent.
"Master Ike," she said, her tone warm but restrained, "thank you for coming. And for offering what you can. Support like that is never insignificant."
The room's hunger for certainty pressed against her awareness, a restless heat that threatened to spill into something sharper. She offered only what she could give without stepping beyond her place, grounding her words in lived experience rather than authority.
"I am not here to tell this Order what it should become," Jairdain said, her voice steady and unembellished. "I am here because I have seen what happens when Jedi fracture into suspicion and pride. If we leave tonight with anything intact, let it be this."
She allowed a quiet pause, letting the words gather their own weight before she continued.
"Our ability to stand beside someone we disagree with."
She drew a slow, grounding breath, letting the restless current of the Force move around her without pulling her off balance. Her hand found Jax's again, her fingers curling around his with a familiarity that steadied her more than anything she had said aloud.
"I will keep doing the work," she said, her voice soft but unwavering. "Whatever shape that work takes. And I will keep showing up where I am needed, even when the room is difficult."
She did not wait for approval. She did not claim the floor.
She simply stepped back to Jax's side, her presence settling into something quieter but no less firm.
And as the murmurs rose again, she listened fully and attentively, without retreat.
Because tonight, listening was its own kind of service.
(Too many to tag all)
Connel Vanagor
