Private The Name That Pulled Me Here

[Ironwraith]

The industrial district sprawled around him, a maze of metal walkways, steaming vents, and buzzing neon lights. Ironwraith's boots clanged against the grated flooring, each step deliberate, his senses constantly scanning. The datapad in his hand flickered weakly, stubborn as ever, and he couldn't afford to lose it, not with the information stored inside.


He had asked around. Dock workers, street techs, maintenance crews, each offered little more than shrugs or vague guesses. Most suggested the usual Republic contractors, but he needed someone who could handle this kind of delicate, persistent malfunction. Then one tech, a wiry man with grease-stained hands and a wary look, finally spoke with certainty.

"You want someone who can actually fix a datapad like that? Go see Ana Rix," the man said, voice low, cautious, as if the name itself carried weight. "Workshop's off the northern belt. If anyone can handle stubborn Republic hardware, it's her."

Ironwraith repeated the name to himself as he walked. Ana Rix… It tugged at some corner of memory, but he couldn't place it exactly. Had he seen her in a briefing? A comm report? Something about the name felt familiar, though he couldn't be certain. For now, the recommendation was enough.


He muttered under his breath as he navigated the twisting alleys, tracing the directions given aloud, habit more than necessity. Northern belt… small panels… off the main conduit… yes, this has to be it. His gaze flicked to the datapad again, the screen faintly pulsing. Hold on a little longer, he murmured, tightening his grip.

Finally, he reached the building. The workshop's exterior was a patchwork of metal plating, vents leaking faint smoke, and exposed wiring. He paused only briefly, then activated the sliding door. It hissed open, and he stepped inside, boots echoing across the metal floor.


The workshop was cluttered but purposeful. workstations stacked with tools, scattered circuit boards, and the faint tang of ozone in the air. He scanned the room, noting the layout, the equipment, everything.

"I was told you're the one to see about fixing a datapad," he said, holding the device out carefully. "Name's Ironwraith. You were recommended."


He didn't wait for a reaction, didn't explain anything else. The datapad and the recommendation carried the weight of the introduction. Any recognition she had of him would come from that simple statement, the only reason he had come, the only reason she would know why he was here.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana did not look up immediately.

She finished tightening a micro-clamp on an open chassis first, fingers steady, unhurried, as if the interruption had been anticipated rather than imposed. Only when the tool clicked into place did she straighten and turn, wiping her hands once on a clean strip of synth-cloth before setting it aside.

Her eyes went to the datapad before they went to him.

Republic issue. Older revision. The kind that refused to fail cleanly and punished anyone who rushed it.

"You were told correctly," she said at last, her voice even and practical, carrying no surprise and no performative warmth. Not unfriendly. Simply exact. "I can look at it."

She took the datapad from him without ceremony, her grip careful but confident, thumbs already finding seams and stress points along the casing. The screen's weak pulse drew a slight narrowing of her eyes.

"This isn't a surface malfunction," Ana continued, turning the device so the light caught it just right. "If it were, it would either be dead or pretending not to be. This is something caught halfway between the two."

She moved toward a clear workbench, motioning for him to follow if he wished but not waiting to see whether he did. The pad was set down on an anti-static field, connectors unfolding smoothly beneath it as she brought a diagnostic array online.

Only then did she glance back at him.

"I don't need to know what's on it," she said calmly, preempting explanations before they started. "But I do need to know whether it was dropped, shocked, sliced, or updated by someone who thought they knew better than the firmware."

A beat.

"And if it's time-sensitive."

Her gaze held his, assessing without probing, the look of someone who fixed problems for a living and understood that people often brought more than broken hardware through her door.

"As for recommendations," Ana added, already half-focused back on the datapad as the diagnostics began to scroll, "they usually come from people who don't want to explain how they know me. That's fine. I don't ask."

The workshop hummed softly around them as she worked, ozone and circuitry and quiet competence filling the space.

"Set the pad down," she said, nodding toward a stool nearby. "And tell me how much trouble it's been giving you."

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith gave a short, almost imperceptible nod, then moved toward the stool she indicated. He set the datapad down on the edge of the workbench with care, as if even the smallest slip could make matters worse. Every motion was deliberate, honed over years of handling fragile gear in far harsher conditions.


He lifted his helmet slowly, cradling it under his arm. The scuffs and faint burn marks along his shoulders caught the dim light of the workshop, silent evidence of missions survived and mistakes endured. He set his gaze briefly on Ana, noting her steady hands, the calm way she assessed the device, the quiet confidence in her movements. There was no ceremony in her work, but there was competence. the kind that demanded attention.


"This pad," he began, his voice low and measured, carrying the weight of experience without unnecessary embellishment, "is the same one I've carried since I came fresh out of training. It's been dropped, submerged, struck… taken through more than it should have survived. I've updated it regularly, maintained it as best I could. Never gave me trouble... until now. Now, it just… indicates it's going to fail."

He watched the screen's faint pulse under her scrutiny, noting the slight narrowing of her eyes. Judging it the way a surgeon judges a patient, he thought silently. Her focus was absolute, precise. She didn't need to know what was on it, but she needed to know its history, and he provided it without embellishment.

"It's time-sensitive," he added, the words clipped but clear. "Not for me, but for what it carries. I need it functioning before it's too late." He paused, letting the weight of that statement settle in the room, the hum of machinery filling the space between words.


A faint hesitation came as he recalled her name being mentioned earlier, a memory tugging at him from somewhere deeper in his mind. "When your name came up… Ana Rix… it sounded familiar," he said, his tone cautious, almost testing the waters. "Do you happen to know a Mr. Black?"


He didn't press further, simply observed, noting her movements, the way her hands shifted across the pad and diagnostic arrays, the way she processed information with practiced efficiency. He waited, patient but alert, letting her control the rhythm of the workspace while he provided what she needed.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana listened without interrupting, her attention never leaving the datapad as he spoke. She turned it slightly, angling it toward a diagnostic lamp, then gave a small, almost approving nod at his account of what it had endured.

"It shows," she said quietly, not unkindly. "This thing has been a total champion. Republic-issued hardware from that era was built to survive neglect, panic, and bad decisions, but you have definitely asked more of it than the designers intended."

Her fingers traced the casing with practiced care, pressing gently along one edge, then another. A faint shift in the housing answered her touch, subtle but telling.

"The core systems are still stable," Ana continued, glancing briefly at the pulsing indicator before returning to the physical inspection. "The failure warning isn't catastrophic. It's fatigue. Micro-fractures in the internal connections, probably from repeated impacts and thermal stress. A few of the inner leads are barely hanging on, and the casing has warped just enough that it's putting pressure where it shouldn't."

She looked up at him then, meeting his gaze steadily.

"It doesn't need to be replaced," she said, clearly. "It needs a new case, properly seated, and the internal connections resoldered and reinforced. If you want it to keep surviving what you put it through, I'll also add shock isolation and seal it properly. Submersion shouldn't be a problem after that."

At the mention of his question, her hands didn't pause, but her expression shifted just slightly, recognition flickering across her features.

"Yes," Ana said evenly. "I know Mr. Black."

She didn't elaborate, merely acknowledged it as fact, then returned her full attention to the datapad, already opening a panel with a precision tool.

"You were right to bring it in now," she added after a moment. "Another hard hit or a few more hours of stress, and it would have failed for real. I can fix it in time—but I'll need it here for a bit, and I won't rush the work."

Her tone softened just a fraction, reassurance rather than promise.

"You kept it alive this long," she said. "I'll make sure it keeps doing its job."

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith listened in silence, his gaze shifting between her hands and the datapad as she spoke. The way she handled it, careful, assured, almost respectful. put him more at ease than he would have admitted aloud. When she finished, he inclined his head once, a small but sincere gesture.

"Thank you," he said simply. Gratitude wasn't something he dressed up. "That's… good to hear."

He adjusted his grip on the helmet under his arm, letting out a slow breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Do what it needs," he added after a beat. "If reinforcing it means it survives the next few years, then that's what I want. I'm not gentle with my equipment, and I don't plan on pretending otherwise."


At her confirmation about Mr. Black, his expression shifted, just slightly. Recognition, then something closer to relief.

"Figures," he murmured. "Name came up when I asked around. Sounded familiar for a reason." He glanced around the workshop again, taking in the steady order beneath the clutter, the quiet competence in motion. "I'm new to working under Mr. Black. Recently brought on."

A faint pause followed, then a dry note entered his voice. "Good to see the corporation hasn't gone to hell while service kept me away."


He looked back to her, meeting her eyes briefly. "What's it going to cost?" he asked plainly. "Credits, time? whatever you need to name. I just need to know how long I'll be without it."


He didn't press further. Ana had already made it clear she wouldn't rush, and Ironwraith respected that. For now, the datapad was in capable hands, and that, more than anything, mattered.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana gave a small nod as he spoke, accepting his thanks with the same quiet professionalism she brought to her work. She set the datapad carefully onto a padded cradle and powered down one diagnostic, already reaching for a different tool.

"Credits-wise, it'll be twelve hundred. I'm pretty reasonable, and this job is easier than it looks. Mostly cleanup, reinforcement, and a new housing."

She glanced up at him then and offered a brief, friendly smile. It was understated, but genuine. Professional first, approachable second.

"Time-wise, a couple of hours. I don't like rushing solder work, especially on something that's already earned its scars."

She nodded toward the open doorway with her chin.

"There's a cantina around the corner if you'd rather step out. Nothing fancy, but the caf's good, and they won't ask questions."

A pause, then she added, lightly,

"You're also welcome to stay here if you prefer. I don't mind the company, as long as you don't lean on the workbench."

As she turned back to the datapad and began removing the damaged casing, a thought flickered through her mind, quiet and unspoken: A couple of hours wouldn't be the worst way to spend an afternoon, honestly.

Out loud, her tone remained calm and assured.

"I'll let you know if I find anything unexpected. Otherwise, you can expect it back tougher than it was when it walked in."

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith gave a short nod, the barest trace of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Twelve hundred," he repeated, committing it. "I'll make sure you get it when the work's done. No need to worry about that."

He shifted slightly on the stool, settling into the rhythm of the workshop. "I'll stay," he said, voice low but steady. "Seems… safer here than wandering around the cantina." He let the words hang just long enough to hint at the dry humor behind them, then added quietly, "As far as I know, at least."

He unclipped a small flask from his belt, unscrewed the cap, and took a careful sip. The liquid was nothing fancy, but it was warm, and the motion felt almost ceremonial after weeks of rushed meals and recycled rations. He offered the flask toward her, not insisting, just holding it out: a silent, almost awkward gesture of courtesy.

"I don't expect you to drink it," he said. "But it's there if you want it."


Then he leaned back slightly, arms resting on his knees, eyes flicking to the datapad as she worked. The hum of machinery and the faint scent of ozone filled the space, and for the first time in hours, he allowed himself a small moment of calm. He wouldn't interfere. He wouldn't rush. He'd watch, sip, and wait, knowing the pad was in capable hands.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana accepted his decision with a brief nod and turned her attention back to the datapad, fingers moving with practiced ease as she opened the casing and set it into a stabilizing cradle. The device had already earned her respect; the wear patterns alone told a story of endurance that most hardware never survived.

She glanced at the flask when he offered it, not reaching for it, but not dismissing the gesture either. One corner of her mouth curved slightly as she rerouted a damaged trace and began prepping a micro-solder.

"I'll pass," she said lightly, eyes still on her work. "But I appreciate the offer. What is it?"

A few sparks flickered as she reinforced an internal connection, her tone settling into something more conversational now that the initial diagnostics were done.

"This thing's been through more than most people I know," she added, almost fondly. "Case is fatigued, internal joints are stressed, but the core's solid. Honestly, it's been a champ. Once I resolder these connections and swap the housing, it should be a lot more forgiving."

She glanced up at him briefly, then, meeting his eyes before returning to the datapad.

"You weren't exaggerating about not being gentle with your equipment," she said, a hint of warmth in her voice. "What kind of work keeps you putting it through this much abuse?"

Her hands never stopped moving as she spoke, steady and precise, the soft hum of tools filling the space between questions.

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith glanced at the flask when she asked, rolling it once between his fingers before taking a measured sip.
"Ale," he said. "Nothing special. Just… familiar."

He watched her work for a moment, the small sparks and steady hands holding his attention more than he expected. When she asked about his work, he let out a quiet breath, something between a sigh and a chuckle.
"High Republic Special Operations," he said. "For a long time. That pad went everywhere with me. Drops, hard landings, bad extractions. If I was moving, it was with me." His tone stayed even, but there was weight behind the words. "It earned every scar you're seeing."

He took another sip, then continued. "After that, I went to work with Mr. Black. His father and I were… close. Good friends." The pause that followed was deliberate, respectful. "I should've been there when he passed. That's something I'll carry."
His gaze drifted briefly to the floor, then back to her, steadier now. "When his son offered me the position, I accepted. Executive Advisor for Security Operations." One corner of his mouth lifted. "I set my own pay. Lower than what my people make."

A quiet laugh escaped him, dry but genuine. "Didn't do it for the credits. Did it because I trusted the family, and because someone had to keep the people under me alive."
He shifted slightly on the stool, posture relaxed but alert. "Still feels like the right call."

His eyes returned to the datapad as she worked. "Seeing how you're handling that… yeah. I'm glad I was pointed here. You treat things like they've earned the right to keep going."
He raised the flask once in a small, acknowledging gesture. "That matters."

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana listened without interrupting, her focus divided seamlessly between Ironwraith's words and the exposed internals of the datapad beneath her hands. She worked with quiet precision, the kind that came from long familiarity rather than urgency, and when he spoke about the pad's history, the drops, the submersion, the way it had been carried through years of hard use, she gave a small nod as if he had confirmed what the diagnostics were already telling her.

"It shows," she said at last, voice even, unhurried. "Not just the wear. The way it's failing suggests it was pushed hard and then carefully maintained. This didn't break because someone ignored it. It broke because it kept going longer than it should have."

She adjusted a solder joint, steadying the casing with one hand as she continued, her tone conversational without losing its edge.

"That matters to me," she added. "I work with information — data, systems, people. Everything leaves a pattern if you're paying attention. Anything that's carried this much, survived this long, has earned the effort it takes to keep it running."

At the mention of Mr. Black, she inclined her head slightly, an acknowledgment rather than an explanation, her eyes flicking briefly to a secondary diagnostic before returning to the main board.

"I do work for him," she said. "Intelligence and analysis, mostly. Databroking when it's needed. Every piece that comes in gets treated as if it matters, at least until it proves otherwise."

She paused just long enough to watch the readout stabilize, a faint satisfaction settling in her expression.

"Same principle applies here," she continued. "Until this datapad tells me clearly that it's done, I'll keep reinforcing it. New casing, resoldered connections, stress relief on the internals. It's been a total champion."

Only then did she glance back toward him, offering a brief, professional smile that carried no expectation with it.

"And when I finish for the day," she added lightly, nodding once toward the flask, "I wouldn't mind sharing an ale. Nothing formal. Just a quiet drink after work."

Her attention returned to the datapad almost immediately, tools moving with steady confidence as the workshop settled back into its familiar rhythm, the repair well underway and very much alive.

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith listened without interrupting, the flask resting loosely in his hand as her words settled. There was something in the way she spoke about patterns, about things earning the effort to keep going, that resonated more than he expected. He nodded once when she finished, slow and deliberate.

"That's… good to hear," he said. "From someone who actually knows what they're looking at."
When she mentioned Mr. Black again, he didn't add anything this time. Just acknowledged it with a brief tilt of his head. Some connections didn't need further explanation.

At her offer, the corner of his mouth lifted, faint but genuine. "I'd like that," he replied. "Just tell me where, or I can wait around and walk with you when you're done. Either works."
He took a small sip from the flask, then capped it and set it aside, giving her his full attention again. "It's been a bit since I've had a drinking buddy," he added, the humor understated but real. "Quiet drink sounds about right."

He leaned back slightly, careful not to crowd her space or the workbench, content to let the workshop hum fill the silence while she worked.
"I'll stay out of your way," he said calmly. "Just… let me know if you need anything."
The words weren't intrusive. Just present.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana glanced up from the open casing, the diagnostic glow washing faintly across her hands as she tightened a connection and checked the readout. His response earned a small, genuine smile this time, the kind that didn't interrupt her work but softened the space around it.

"Good," she said, quietly pleased. "I know a place that doesn't advertise, doesn't ask questions, and doesn't play music loud enough to think for you. On a world like this, that's rarer than good ale."

She shifted a component into place and glanced back toward him briefly, meeting his eyes just long enough to register the ease in his posture.

"We'll go when I finish here," she continued, calm and assured. "No rush. The datapad's earned the time, and so have you."

Her attention returned to the workbench, tools moving with practiced precision as the workshop hummed around them.

"And thank you for waiting," she added after a beat. "Not everyone understands that good repairs and good conversations both work better when they're not forced."

The faint smile lingered as she worked, already confident that when the job was done, the quiet drink would be exactly what they both needed.

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith gave a short nod, letting the pause hang in the workshop's hum. "I know," he said quietly, voice low but steady. "Forcing shit… it almost never ends well." He leaned back slightly, fingers resting lightly on the edge of the stool, gaze drifting toward the datapad for a moment before returning to her.

"Out in the field, during a real operation," he continued, tone almost confessional, "the higher-ups… they push too hard, too fast. Force a mission before it's ready, rush the timing, cut corners. Next thing you know, your transport's blown to hell, your squad's scattered, and you're the only one left standing when you shouldn't have been. Shouldn't have been alive to see it."


He exhaled, slow, letting the words settle, heavy with memory. "You learn quick that patience isn't just good sense... it's survival. Letting things take their time, giving them space to… finish right… that's how they last. That's how you last."

He shifted, leaning forward just slightly, meeting her eyes for a fraction longer. "And from what I can see, that's exactly how you work. Not just with this damn pad, but with everything you touch."


The words weren't flattery. They weren't a warning. They were observation. Deep, quiet, earned by experience. And for a moment, the workshop felt less like a room of tools and solder smoke, and more like a rare understanding had been shared.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana didn't interrupt him. She rarely did when someone was saying something that mattered.

Her hands kept moving while he spoke, steady and precise, reseating a connection, letting the diagnostic cycle complete before she finally stilled. The datapad hummed more evenly now, as if it could feel the difference. Only then did she look up at him, expression thoughtful rather than distant.

"You're right," she said quietly. "Most systems don't fail because they're weak. They fail because someone decided they didn't have time to listen to what the system was telling them."

She set one tool aside and rested her fingertips lightly on the casing, grounding the moment back in something tangible.

"People do that too," she added, not unkindly. "Push past warning signs, ignore stress fractures, assume momentum will carry them through. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it just leaves wreckage."

Her gaze held his for a beat longer this time, not probing, not sympathetic in a way that demanded anything back. Just present.

"Patience isn't hesitation," she continued. "It's paying attention long enough to act when it actually matters. That's how I was taught. With data, with people, with situations that can't be undone once they break."

A faint, professional smile touched her lips as she glanced back down at the pad and resumed work.

"Your datapad lasted because you respected it," she said. "You didn't throw it away the first time it showed wear. You kept updating it, carrying it, trusting it to keep up. That kind of relationship matters more than most people think."

The workshop settled back into its quiet rhythm, solder cooling, diagnostics scrolling.

"We'll get it through this," she finished calmly. "Same way you got through everything else. One careful step at a time."

No drama. No promises she couldn't keep. Just competence, shared understanding, and work done the right way.

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, gaze tracking her hands as she moved over the datapad. "Alright," he said slowly, voice calm. "What else does it need? Resoldered, new casing, stress relief… anything I can do to help with that?"

He paused for a beat, then added, almost automatically, the kind of dry, habitual humor that crept out around moments of tension: "Not that I'm suggesting you need me to… handle something hard and stubborn." He gave a short, self-mocking laugh and held up a hand. "Sorry. Old habit."

His eyes returned to the pad, serious again. "If you want me to pass tools, hold components, or just keep an eye on things while you work, I can do that. No pressure. Just… make sure this damn thing comes out of here in one piece."


He shifted slightly on the stool, letting the workshop hum fill the silence while she worked. "It's the least I can do after all the years it's kept up with me," he added quietly.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana finished the solder joint before answering, allowing the connection to cool properly rather than rushing it. She ran a quick diagnostic sweep, watched the stability curve stabilize as expected, and only then set the tool aside.

She reached under the workbench and pulled out a shallow case tray, flipping it open with a practiced motion. Inside were four clean replacement housings, neatly lined up.

"The internals are holding," she said evenly. "Resoldering the stressed connections and adding proper strain relief will keep it functional, but the casing is the real issue. It's done its job, but it's taken too many impacts to keep protecting what's inside."

She slid the tray slightly toward him so he could see them clearly.

"These are the standard options," she continued. "Black, blue, red, white. Same materials, same shielding, same durability ratings. No performance difference—just how visible you want it to be and how much heat it reflects."

Her eyes lifted briefly, giving him a measured look from boots to shoulders, assessing him as she assessed hardware. It wasn't personal, wasn't lingering—just data.

"Blue," she said after a moment, matter-of-fact. "It'll show less wear than black, doesn't draw attention like red, and won't glare like white in bright environments. Practical. Fits how you move."

She picked up the blue casing and turned it once in her hands, checking the fit.

"If you want to help," she added calmly, "you can hold the tray steady while I transfer the board. Slow and careful is all it takes. The datapad's earned that much."

No teasing. No pressure. Just a quiet, competent recommendation—delivered the same way she treated everything else that mattered.

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith rose from the stool without a sound and stepped closer, careful not to crowd her space or the bench. He took hold of the tray when indicated, steadying it with the same patience he'd shown in worse places than this.
"Helping's the least I can do," he said quietly. "You took this on short notice, and you're treating it like it matters. I don't forget that."

His eyes flicked briefly over the replacement housings as she laid them out. When she named blue and explained it, he gave a small nod. No argument. No second-guessing. "Blue works," he agreed. "If it fits how I move, that's good enough for me."
He held the tray steady as instructed, hands firm, unmoving, letting her do the precise work. For a moment, he said nothing, just watched, respected the process.

Then, hesitating just a fraction longer than usual, he spoke again.
"I know I probably shouldn't ask this," he said, tone careful, not casual, "so feel free to tell me to mind my own business." A faint, self-aware huff escaped him. "But I'm terrible at judging age."

A brief pause.
"You don't work like someone fresh out of their twenties," he added, honest rather than flattering. "But I've been wrong enough times to know better than trusting my instincts on that."

He didn't push. Didn't linger on it. Just held the tray steady, eyes back on the datapad.
"Either way," he said quietly, "you know your shit. That's what matters."

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana didn't look up right away. She guided the board into the new casing with careful precision, her fingertips steady as she aligned the ports and seated the connectors, letting his hands keep the tray perfectly still.

When she did speak, her tone was calm, unguarded, and faintly amused.

"Thirty," she said simply.

She glanced up, briefly, meeting his eyes before returning her focus to the datapad.

"I've been doing this kind of work since I could hold tools without dropping them," she continued. "Started with scrap, broken comms, anything people thought wasn't worth fixing. You learn fast when mistakes cost time, trust, or access to the next job. People remember who treats their things carefully."

The corner of her mouth lifted this time, small but genuine.

"So no, not fresh out of my twenties in experience," she added. "Just on paper."

She seated the final connector, pressed the casing closed with a soft, decisive click, and ran another diagnostic sweep as the pad powered smoothly to life.

"And thank you," she said, quieter now, warmth threading through the professionalism. "For noticing. I treat things like they matter because they usually do to someone. That history stays in the metal, even if most people stop seeing it."

She glanced at the tray, then back to him.

"You're doing fine," she added, gently reassuring rather than evaluative. "Most people want to help but do not know how to slow down enough to let it happen. Staying still when it counts is rarer than you think."

The workshop hummed on around them, steady and unhurried, the datapad resting between them now renewed and familiar, ready to keep going a little longer.

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith let out a quiet breath when she answered, the tension easing just a fraction as the datapad came back to life between them. He kept the tray steady until the work was done, then eased his hands away, careful not to disturb anything she'd just set right.


"Thirty," he echoed softly, then nodded once. "Yeah… that tracks." Not the number, the way she moved. "Paper never tells the whole story anyway."
He leaned back against the edge of the bench, helmet still tucked under his arm, eyes drifting for a moment as her words about slowing down settled in. When he spoke again, his voice dropped, not hushed but weighted.

"I learned that lesson early," he said. "Second mission I ever ran." A faint, humorless smile tugged at his mouth. "Assignment job. Single HVT. Don't even remember the target's name anymore. Just… the wait."


His gaze unfocused slightly, memory taking over.
"Swampy mire. Stank like rot and fuel. I lay there for three days. Didn't move. Didn't sleep right. Just waited for the angle, the timing, the one moment where it'd look like his blaster misfired instead of someone putting a hole in him." He exhaled slowly. "That was the first time it really sank in, rushing gets people killed. Sometimes it's you. Sometimes it's everyone else."

He shifted his weight, grounding himself back in the present.
"Never liked those missions," he added. "Search-and-destroy? That's different. Chaos, momentum, you move with the unit. But hunting one person, alone… that kind of work forces you to slow down whether you want to or not."

His eyes returned to her, steady, thoughtful.
"You either learn patience, or you don't come back." A beat. "Sounds like we learned it the same way. By respecting what breaks when you don't."


He glanced at the datapad, now whole again, then back to her.
"Looks like it's ready to keep going," he said quietly. "Guess we are too."


Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana listened without interrupting, hands resting lightly on the bench near the datapad as he finished. When he did, she reached over and powered the unit down with deliberate care, fingertips lingering just long enough to confirm the seal had taken.

She finally looked up, expression calm but a touch softer than before.

"It's ready," she said gently but firmly. "But don't touch it yet."

She slid the datapad a few centimeters farther onto the bench, out of easy reach, more habit than mistrust.

"I need to shut the shop down properly," she continued. "Once everything's powered down and the systems cool, the solder and casing will finish settling on their own. Give it another twenty minutes, and it'll be exactly where it needs to be."

She began tidying her tools with unhurried precision, the conversation clearly shifting into its natural close.

"After that, it's yours," she added. "Just try not to knock it around too hard for a day. Let it acclimate. After that… it can go back to surviving whatever you throw at it."

A faint smile touched her mouth, not playful, just understanding.

"Some things last longer when you give them a moment to breathe," she said, glancing once more at the datapad. "People included."

She reached for the lights at the back of the workshop, already moving into the rhythm of closing.

And as she did, her thoughts drifted briefly ahead, not with anticipation so much as quiet acceptance. A drink later. Somewhere dim, steady, and unpretentious. Ale, probably. A conversation that didn't require vigilance or leverage, just presence. It had been a long time since she'd shared a drink that wasn't transactional or strategic.

She didn't rush the thought, nor linger on it. Just noted it, the way she did most things that were worth keeping.

Soon, she decided. That would be enough.

Ironwraith